


Absolution

by Luna_Lee



Series: In All Things, Forgiveness [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Dark, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Character Death, Post-Fourth Shinobi War, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27238117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Lee/pseuds/Luna_Lee
Summary: Forgiveness is a concept Gaara has never applied to himself. He works tirelessly for the betterment of Suna and her people, never expecting anything, let alone something as sacred and precious as forgiveness. Who could absolve him of his past when all those he'd encountered as Suna's monster are dead? He locks away the guilt and works diligently, keeping the village safe. Until, one day, the long avoided plague of sleep overcomes him, and he cannot fight the nightmares or the fresh guilt they bring.On the heels of this troubling sleep issue, Temari's first child arrives, and with her arrival the need for a nanny.But it's not as simple as just any nanny arriving on their doorstep. It's none other than Rock Lee, who brings with him the living reminder of Gaara's past and the pain he'd wrought.
Relationships: Gaara/Rock Lee, Nara Shikamaru/Temari
Series: In All Things, Forgiveness [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092299
Comments: 29
Kudos: 47
Collections: GaaLee Bingo





	Absolution

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic that's been on the backburner for years. I wanna say this has been a WIP for at least two years? I started working on it again late spring/early summer with the intention of posting all seven parts at once, but I'm too impatient, and this fits for GaaLee Bingo, so I figured--since I had the first part done, might as well just edit and post! This fic fulfills the prompt 'Dreams'. 
> 
> Originally this fic was inspired by art by a friend on tumblr some years ago, but it has since gone completely off the rails and the original art that inspired this fic is.... no where to be found. Well, not no where, but it's now just a vague point of reference. That being said, this is the [art!](https://brianadoesotherjunk.tumblr.com/post/160387455683/heres-a-thing-rock-lee-is-a-saint-bonus?is_related_post=1#notes)
> 
> Anyway, general trigger warning for this fic: it does deal with past character death and the grief from that loss, as well as childhood trauma, so it's going to be a very heavy read!
> 
> This fic has a prequel which you can read [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17181878)

_absolve (verb)_  
_/əbˈzälv,əbˈsälv/_  
_set me free_  
_declare my soul_

_guiltless_

_am I worthy of this deliverance?_  
_abandon this forgiveness_  
_aren't i the monster i've always been?_

_forget your mercy_  
_and love me like i'll die a sinner's death_

There was blood on his hands. Deep red and heavy with the smell of iron. Everywhere he looked: blood. He was knee-deep and sinking in bloody sand. 

Smewhere, someone screamed. 

He woke with a start, jerking violently as molten sand erupted from his gourd and crashed around him, forming a protective barrier against—

“It was just a dream,” he rasped, his throat raw. His hands shook as he wiped cold sweat and tears from his face. Just a dream? He couldn't ever remember 'just' dreaming. Even after all these years without Shukaku, Gaara did not sleep and he certainly did not dream. 

It had always been easy to go without sleep, but in the last two months the need for it crept up on him—first slowly, so that he did not notice, and then all at once, so that it overwhelmed him before he could use chakra to replenish his energy. He would slip into the dark unconscious of sleep and then the dreams would come. It was more than dreams, however. What plagued Gaara could hardly be called dream or nightmare; what came to him in the dark of unconscious was more like memory, distorted by time and guilt. In his life, he had killed countless people, and though it had been a long time since the dark days of his youth, he had never forgotten a single life he'd taken; he'd never forgotten the atrocities he'd committed. When he thought a name or face might be slipping from his recollection, he recited it like a prayer, over and over, so that he never forgot the faces or names of those he'd killed, never forgot their voices as they begged for salvation, never forgot the way their blood had soaked his sand and the way he could taste the iron on his tongue.

The people he'd hurt were dead and gone, unable to actualize their revenge or grant forgiveness. So Gaara, reminded himself, never let himself foget. He might be a different man now, but the monster still lived in the deep recess of his memory. 

“Gaara?” Temari knocked on his door gently, her voice thick with sleep. 

“I'm fine,” he called, rising from his chair on weak and shaky legs. His sand crumbled around him and skittered back into his gourd, propped against the wall as he tried to tidy the mess. He felt as though his energy had been sapped from him, and his hands trembled as he reached for the documents on his desk.

“Should I make tea?” 

“Yes, thank you.” He hadn't told Temari about his nightmares and didn't want to linger on the subject for long in case she started asking probbing questions. As it was, the hour was late, and Temari needed her rest. She was far enough along in her pregnancy that she shouldn't be tending to his needs.

The sound of Temari's shuffling feet faded down the hall, and Gaara returned his attention to his desk where ink had spilled, destroying one document, while hot sand had burned a hole through three more. He sighed heavily, gathering the destroyed documents and setting them aside. He had copies at the office that he could send for—he'd go himself, but with Kankurō away on a mission, he was the only one home and felt it his duty to stay home in case Temari went into labor. Shikamaru was due back any day with the proper paperwork needed for a child born of two villages, but until then, Gaara was housebound.

Several minutes later, he heard the whistle of the tea kettle. 

With the documents organized and his hands no longer shaking, Gaara made his way to the kitchen to save Temari the trouble of bringing him his tea. 

“You didn't have to come in here,” she said as she poured hot water into a teapot. “I was going to bring it to you.” 

“That's unnecessary. Besides, you shouldn't be waiting on me in your condition.” 

“I'm pregnant, Gaara, not dying," Temari said with a derisive snort.

“Pregnancy can be dangerous,” he pointed out. 

“Don't I know it,” she muttered. “But I'm perfectly fine, and I wish all of you would stop treating me like I've become some sort of delicate flower.” She set the teapot on a tray more forcefully than necessary, emphasizing her words. 

“You'll have to forgive us,” he said quietly. “None of us are particularly skilled in matters of childbearing.” 

“And I am?” 

“No.” He had to admit defeat. Temari would argue the point until she was worked up, which was the last thing she needed no matter what she said. Besides, Gaara knew when to concede that she was right. 

“Come on,” she said, urging him from the kitchen. “Let's take this in the sitting room.” 

“You can go back to sleep,” he said, trying to take the tray from her. 

She held it out of reach, glaring. “No, I can't because _someone_ screamed bloody murder and woke me up, so now _someone_ is going to sit down with his big sister and _talk_ or so help me, Gaara, I will punch you.” 

So much for keeping his nightmares from Temari. 

Resigned, Gaara followed her into the sitting room, taking the tray from her and setting it down before helping her onto the couch. She was much too large to do it on her own unless she wanted to topple over, even she could admit that. Once settled, Temari pinned him with a piercing look that told him in no uncertain terms that he better get talking because it was half past two in the morning and she was _not_ in the mood to wait. 

Under his sister's heavy gaze, he relented. “I had a nightmare.” 

Temari's expression was one of practiced neutrality, but Gaara could still see the shock in her eyes. He looked away, avoiding her gaze by busying himself with pouring them both tea. 

“Over the last two months,” he explained, passing her a mug, “I've been falling asleep without warning.” Silence met this declaration, stark and unsettling. It had been a long time since he'd had actual need to avoid sleep, but even without the poorly-sealed Shukaku, Gaara could not bring himself to do it. He'd tried it once, after Shukaku had been extracted from him and he'd been saved from death, and it had ended in half his bedroom wall demolished and his ANBU in a frenzy. 

“I don't know why I'm suddenly unable to stay awake,” he said quietly. “I'm not aware of any need to sleep, but I can't fight it once it comes.” 

“How many times has it happened?” 

“Seven, counting tonight.” 

“Do you have nightmares every time?” 

“Yes.” Gaara sipped his tea, contemplating each time he'd fallen asleep and the nightmares that had followed. “It's always in the middle of working, but I've been able to keep it quiet since I haven't been at the office much.” 

“Have you spoken to a medic?” 

“No.” The word came out more biting than necessary. Gaara's deep dislike of being a patient had kept him from seeking medical help, a fact that Temari would most certainly disapprove of.

“You're seeing a medic first thing tomorrow,” she said, predictably, and it was clear that this was not a topic of debate. Usually, if Gaara didn't want to do something he wouldn't do it, but Temari's pregnancy had weakened his resolve to fight against her, a fact she knew all too well and often took advantage of.

“A medic can only do so much,” he said, a useless attempt at getting out of it. 

“But they can do something,” she countered. “And if you're having difficulties staying awake something could be seriously wrong. Now, what about the nightmares?” 

Gaara had hoped she would overlook this part of the problem. He pressed his lips together, hand clenching around his cup. “It's nothing, just memories.” 

“Nothing wouldn't have had you screaming loud enough to wake the village. What kind of memories?” 

“Murder.” 

“That explains absolutely nothing,” she groaned. “We're shinobi, Gaara. It's an occupational hazard.” 

“Not all of the deaths I caused were occupational.” 

Temari was quiet. There were no words she could string together to absolve him of his past, and there was no use in trying. She'd attempted to before, in her own sisterly way, but it had never done Gaara any good. She could forgive him for the hurt he'd caused her, but she could not forgive him on another's behalf.

She watched him carefully, as though she might pull more information from him with a look. But he had no interest in discussing his nightmares further and refused to meet her gaze. He sipped his tea quietly, letting it sooth him and chase away the last dregs of anxiety that had gripped him in sleep. 

“Tomorrow,” Temari said, resting her hand against his arm. “A medic can at least help solve why you're unable to stay awake.” 

Gaara did not flinch from her touch, but his skin tingled where her fingers rested. He did not understand how Temari could be so kind in the face of his past. He wished he were a child, so he could be as small and fragile as he felt, and crawl into his sister's lap for comfort; so that he could be deserving of her gentleness, instead of the crawling unworthiness he felt. She could hold him and sing to him—wasn't that something mothers did to ease their child's fears? 

“Are you planning on doing more work tonight?” Temari asked, pulling Gaara from his thoughts. 

“I have an important meeting next week to prepare for.” 

“Oh, right,” Temari sneered. “I forgot: the delegates.” 

Temari both loved and hated working with foreign politicians. She was sharp-tongued and fierce, and more than qualified to go toe-to-toe with any political strategist, but there were always draw backs. They always underestimated her and they always tried to condescend to her. If she hated anything, it was being talked down to. Yet Gaara suspected that she secretly loved when they did this because it gave her a reason to intimidate and embarrass pompous men who thought they knew better than her. If Temari loved anything more than fighting, it was the chance to belittle a man in need of humbling.

“It won't be the same without you,” he murmured. 

She sighed, pushing herself bodily from the couch. “If this kid decides to show up by then, maybe I'll drop by.” 

“You shouldn't go back to work so soon.” 

The slow narrowing of Temari's eyes told Gaara he'd stepped on a landmine. “I have been away from work for the past three months. I have been off active duty for the last five. I will be going back to work the moment I'm out of the hospital, and nothing—not my husband, not my brothers, and not the Kazekage—will stop me.” 

“If that's what you think is best,” Gaara said slowly. 

“I am this close to murdering someone—probably Kankurō,” she said, holding her finger and thumb a scant centimeter apart. “Between the two of you coddling me, Shikamaru panicking, and being on leave I am at my wit's end. Trust me, going back to work is the best thing for all of us.” 

“All right,” he said, rising from his seat. “Should I make arrangements for a nanny?” 

“Shikamaru said he would figure it out. He seemed to have someone in mind.” 

“Someone from Konoha? I thought you were staying here until the child was old enough to travel.” 

“We are,” she said, heading for the stairs. “But Shikamaru wanted someone we both know and trust to look after our child.” She rested her hand on her stomach, a small smile on her face. “I told him there were plenty of trustworthy people here in Suna, but I think he really just misses Konoha.” 

Gaara hadn't been made aware of the fact that Shikamaru was bringing anyone from Konoha back with him, and if it weren't for the fact that it was for Temari, he might have been upset that they hadn't consulted him. However, the last time he'd seen his brother-in-law, Shikamaru had been close to a nervous breakdown, so it was likely it had slipped his mind. 

“I suppose if it's someone we know, it should be fine,” Gaara mused. “I wished you'd told me sooner.” 

“I know, I'm sorry. We've just been so preoccupied, and I keep forgetting every little thing.” 

“It's fine,” he said before she could gain any more steam. “I just need to sign off on the paperwork. Will they be coming with Shikamaru when he returns?” 

“No idea,” she said. “He wasn't even sure himself. From what I gather, he hasn't actually asked this person yet.” 

“Keep me informed. I'll begin drawing up the paperwork.” 

“Sure thing.” She hesitated, staring up the stairwell as though suddenly mesmerized by something at the top that only she could see. “Promise me you won't keep something like this from me again."

He hesitated, caught off guard by the emotion in Temari's voice. “I didn't want to worry you.” 

"You always do that,” she said, sadly. She looked back at him, her eyes glassy and bright in the dim light from the upstairs hallway. “You push us away—especially me. You don't have to go through this alone.” 

The realization that Temari was crying made his stomach knot. The light of unshed tears in her eyes and the sad twist of her smile were as horrifying as the nightmares that plagued him.

“I'm sorry,” he managed, emotion constricting his throat. 

“Just...” She wiped at her eyes, looking away. “I love you, Gaara. You know that, right?” 

He could not remember ever hearing those words from Temari or Kankurō. He knew, logically, that his siblings cared for him a great deal and that they did love him, but the word 'love' was like a bad memory or an old wound, easily re-opened. The constant reminder of the word's existence everytime he looked in the mirror was a strange irony to him now that he was an adult. It was a word he knew both intimately, and could never know, as though it were a lifelong stranger. He preferred the action of love, than the emptiness of a word that could easily be said under false pretenses. It was not that he did not love—for he did, wholly and completely—but to speak the word felt somehow blasphemous. He loved because he acted on his love, and some part of himself knew others loved him because they acted on it. But in the years since Yashamaru's death, no one had ever spoken those words to him. 

Temari laughed suddenly into the tense silence, and then she was crying, covering her face with her hands one minute and then throwing her arms around Gaara the next. He'd seen enough of her mood swings that he shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. He stiffened, arms pinned to his sides and his eyes wide. 

“I'm sorry,” Temari cried into his shoulder. “This is so stupid. I hate being pregnant so much. I can't—ugh.” She let out a frustrated sound, pulling herself away from him and wiping furiously at her face.

“That was...” 

“I know,” she said, waving a hand. “But... I am serious. You don't have to keep me at arm's length. I know being the Kazekage, you think you have to take care of us, but you can let us take care of you, too. You're my brother first, before anything else.” 

He swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded. 

“Good,” Temari said, smiling. “Now I'm gonna go back to bed before I start crying again.” 

She reached out as if to hug him again, then seemed to think better of it and touched his shoulder instead. With one final, sad smile she disappeared up the stairs, moving slowly and gripping the banister tightly as she went. 

Gaara stood for a long moment, staring after Temari as he processed the words “I love you, Gaara” over and over until he felt numb from it. He didn't know how long he stood there, too lost in memories of a childhood without love, filled instead with bloodshed and murder, but eventually, as the sky began to lighten and as the changing of the guard took place, Gaara returned to his study. 

The destroyed documents had been replaced in his absence and the window opened to let in the cool early morning breeze. He settled into his seat, fighting the urge to cry as the words his sister had spoken finally sank in. 

__________________________

“Welcome home,” Gaara said as Shikamaru entered his study. 

Shikamaru looked exhausted. Gaara could imagine that the stress of being away from Temari had not helped him any. He motioned for Shikamaru to sit, which he did promptly, falling into the spare chair with all the grace of a rock-slide. He slumped forward, running a hand down his face. 

“Sorry about not mentioning bringing someone from back home,” he muttered. 

“It's fine,” Gaara told him, setting his work aside. “I understand you're under a lot of stress.” 

Shikamaru shook his head, pulling his ponytail down and rubbing his temples. “I don't know why I thought having a baby was a good idea.” He chuckled, tiredly, an ironic twist to his mouth as he smiled. “Temari didn't even want a kid at first. I did—what the fuck? I mean—sorry, I'm just—”

“You didn't need to see me right away,” Gaara pointed out, concerned by Shikamaru's babbling. 

“I wanted to bring the paperwork to you before I forgot or misplaced it,” he explained, pulling his pack towards him and digging through it. “It's all the necessary paperwork: the baby's dual citizenship papers, the finalized dual citizenship forms for myself and Temari, and the work visa for Rock Lee.” 

Gaara froze. “Rock Lee?” 

Shikamaru heaved a sigh, fatigue and worry making his shoulders slump. “He wasn't my first choice,” he admitted. “I mean, he's a great guy—probably the most trustworthy person I've ever met—but I know you two have history. It's just, Lee's been... struggling lately. We've all been a bit worried about him, actually.” 

“I didn't realize there was reason to worry,” Gaara said, curious. 

“Yeah, it's—” Shikamaru shook his head. “He wasn't doing well after the war. Neji's death was hard on him and Tenten, but after Gai...” 

“What happened to Maito Gai?” There was an unexpected urgency in the question. While Gaara and Rock Lee were not close, he considered Lee something like a friend—too close to be an acquaintance, but not quite close enough for 'friend'. He respected Lee a great deal and, from what he could tell, the feeling was mutual, for Rock Lee had never been anything but kind to him, despite their history. There was even camaraderie between them, a trust that defied the odds, and whenever Gaara had occassion to visit Konoha, Lee was always overjoyed by his presence.

“You didn't hear?” 

'Obviously', Gaara wanted to say, but he only leveled Shikamaru an annoyed look. 

“Right, well, you were there when Gai opened the Eighth Gate during the war.” Shikamaru was taking his time, which did not bode well.

“Yes.” 

“Whatever Naruto did, it wasn't permanent. We thought it was—and maybe if we'd known it wasn't, something could have been done... But no one knew. One day, Kakashi and Gai were out with Lee and Tenten for lunch. Everything was normal, you know? They were—they were laughing and talking, and then Gai just... died. No warning at all. He just died. It wasn't a heartattack or anything like that. He just—stopped.”

Gaara was horrified. He barely managed a whispered, “When was this?”

“A year ago, when you three were abroad.” Shikamaru ran a hand down his face, rubbing at his tired eyes. “I was in a meeting when it happened—I don't even remember what it was about anymore. It was canceled for obvious reasons.” 

“Maito Gai was a beloved man,” Gaara said quietly. “I wish I'd known. I'd liked to have paid my respects.” 

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It just—it came out of nowhere, and you were gone for so long. The funeral was—the entire village showed up, of course. You'd think it was a former Hokage the way people came out. I think it felt like we'd all lost someone dear to us, but Tenten, Lee, and Kakashi... Kakashi took a leave of absence—you might have heard about that. It was that period when Naruto and Sakura were running the village together, right before Kakashi officially made Naruto Hokage.” Shikamaru let out a sad laugh, shaking his head. “Honestly, I didn't think anyone could have taken Gai's death as hard as Lee, but Kakashi wasn't the same. Still isn't, but he went back to work, said he couldn't stand the quiet of unemployment. Tenten took it hard too, of course, but I don't even think she's had the time for her grief because Lee's just—he's self-destructing.”

Gaara could only imagine. The idea that Maito Gai was gone seemed strange, unreal. The last time he had seen Gai, he had been the same as ever—energetic to the point of ridiculousness, rolling around Konoha in his wheelchair, shouting about youth and encouraging Lee to do impossible tasks or else challenging Kakashi to equally ridiculous ones. Konoha without Maito Gai would be a quieter, sadder place. 

Lee without Gai, however—Gaara could not fathom it. 

“Rock Lee can't be doing well,” he said into the silence. 

“He's become—reckless is putting it mildly. Naruto took him off active duty six months ago. Tenten's tried to help him, but he's lost to his grief.” 

“Do you think it's wise to have someone like that watching over an infant?” Gaara couldn't help but ask. “Rock Lee is a good man, but if he is as you say—”

“I know, I know.” Shikamaru shook his head. “I wouldn't have picked him, like I said, but... He needs something. Since he got taken off active duty he's just—he's not Lee anymore. I mean, he hasn't been Lee since Gai, but it's like all he had left to keep him afloat was fighting, and then that got taken away and now he's,” Shikamaru waved his hand in the air, searching for the word. “...nothing.” 

Rock Lee had never been nothing. Gaara could hardly imagine applying such a word to him, and the image of Lee it conjured was deeply unsettling.

“He doesn't even wear the suit anymore,” Shikamaru added. 

Gaara closed his eyes. “That's...” 

“Yeah.” Shikamaru leaned back in his seat, fixing Gaara with a level gaze that reminded him of Temari. “He's obviously depressed. We talked about it—all of us got together and decided that Lee needed something to live for, something to remind him that life is worth it. And this was what we settled on. It was convenient timing, really, because I don't know who else we'd have asked. It's honestly what kept me away for so long—talking with everyone, deciding if I was okay with it, trying to convince Lee, sorting out all the paperwork.” 

“And you're sure the child will be safe?” 

“I am. I'd never have agreed to it if I weren't positive of that. With everything he's gone through, the only person he's ever put in danger on missions is himself, and he'd never do anything to put a child in harm's way. I admit, if Tenten hadn't suggested it, I might be more concerned, but she knows him best. She thinks this could bring him back to himself, bring him some kind of peace. A baby needs constant care and attention, plus babies are—and these are Tenten's words, not mine—'youthful and full of life'.” 

“I can see where she's coming from, and I understand you wouldn't make this choice lightly, but I'll still place a guard on him. Just for the baby's safety.” 

“I appreciate that. Temari will, too. I haven't actually told her who it is yet.” 

“You haven't?” 

“Nope. Figured I'd at least get a kiss before facing my death,” he joked. He pushed himself up from the chair, setting the forms he'd brought on Gaara's desk. “Speaking of which, I should probably go do that now before it gets too late and she thinks I didn't tell her on purpose.” 

"Good luck," Gaara said to Shikamaru's retreating back. Left alone once again, Gaara picked up the forms. The top one was Lee's visa. 

The last time he'd seen Rock Lee had been at Naruto's wedding, two years ago. He'd been happy, whole, and full of life; as exuberant as Gaara had ever seen him. He couldn't imagine Lee as anything else. He sighed down at the form, pondering the characters that made up Lee's name and what sort of man he'd become in the wake of his grief. None of them were strangers to grief, but Lee had always struck Gaara as impervious to any hardship. It was naive, but when he thought of Lee, his first thought had always been Lee's smile, blinding and earnest, and his steadfast, unshakable determination. He tried to picture Lee as Shikamaru had said he was now—consumed by grief, self-destructing, without the suit—but it felt as foreign to him as the fact of Gai's death. 

He could not guess at what was to come, but if Lee remained lost and broken, Gaara didn't want to think what that would mean for those Lee loved or the infant he was to be responsible for. 

__________________________

“I don't feel sick,” Gaara said, as the medic placed a stethoscope against his chest. 

“Breathe in, please,” Totto said, ignoring him. She was a stern-faced woman, who'd been an active medic-nin for twenty years longer than Gaara had been alive. There were frown lines around her mouth and crow's feet around her eyes and she wore her hair up in a bun so tight it gave Gaara a headache to look at it. 

Temari had finally strong-armed him into calling for a medic shortly after he'd finished preparing for the arrival of the delegates. Shikamaru's return had distracted her for only a few days, and once she'd cried and then threatened bodily harm if they ever brought up the fact that she'd shed a single tear over his return, she'd gone right back to pestering Gaara about his strange sleeping habits. 

He'd only called the medic because Temari had pointed out that it could be dangerous for the baby. 

“Breathe out.”

Gaara let the breath out on a slow sigh. He didn't see what the point of this was. He wasn't sick, and it wasn't as though his ability to breathe had been called into question. 

Totto hummed, taking his wrist without asking and checking his pulse. Gaara hated the way medics always touched and prodded without so much as a “Do you mind?” He certainly did mind, thank you very much. 

“You said that the issue only occurs at night, is that correct?” 

“Thus far,” he intoned, relieved that she'd gone back to her clipboard. 

“Do you experience any fatigue beforehand?” 

“No.” Gaara had told her this five times. He didn't understand what was so difficult about the word. Usually when he said 'no' people didn't ask him to repeat himself. 

“You simply pass out without warning?” 

“Yes,” he all but snapped. 

“In the past, you haven't had these issues,” she went on as though his tone didn't threaten impending disaster. “You noted that the occurrences of unexpected sleep took place between roughly the hours of one and three in the morning each time.” 

“As I said—”

“Are you eating regularly?” She didn't seem to actually need him to answer. He hated her. 

“Yes.” 

“Full meals? Snacks in between?” 

“Should I write up an itinerary of my daily diet? I eat as I always have. There have been no changes to my diet or any other aspects of my life.” 

Totto hummed, setting her clipboard down. “We'll need to run some tests, but if I had to hazard a guess, I believe the issue is simply that your body can no longer sustain itself without sleep.” 

Gaara narrowed his eyes. “Then why don't I feel fatigue? It's not as though I'm lying down to rest when it happens. I'm fully conscious and upright. I feel as alert as usual up until I'm asleep.” 

Totto clicked her tongue. “It is curious, but without further testing, I can only offer my opinion. I suggest you try sleeping tonight.” 

“Intentionally sleeping?” Gaara asked, his voice so flat it had become a plateau. 

“Yes, Kazekage-sama, intentionally sleeping. I'm sure you can manage that.” 

Gaara decided that 'hate' was not a strong enough word for how he felt about Totto. The glare he shot her went completely ignored, and he almost longed for the days when people still feared him just so he could get her out of his house sooner. 

She scribbled something on her clipboard, then slipped it into the bag of medical supplies she'd brought with her. “I believe that's everything I can do for you. I'll schedule a sleep study for you later this week—”

“Not this week,” he interrupted, rising from his seat. “The end of the month would be best.” 

“Very well. I'll be in touch.” She bowed before seeing herself out.

He waited until he heard the door of his home close, then headed for the kitchen where Temari was waiting. 

She was sitting at the table, drinking deeply from a glass of water when he found her. Shikamaru was busy making what looked like a strange combination of fried lizard tail and ice cream, another concoction born from Temari's craving for sweet and salty foods. 

“How'd it go?” Temari asked immediately. 

“Her educated guess is that I just need to sleep,” he said, sullen and annoyed. “She's scheduling me for a sleep study at the end of the month.” 

“It might be good to start sleeping, don't you think?” 

Gaara emphatically did not think it would be a good idea. He leveled a look at Temari across the table. 

“Or not,” she amended. Shikamaru set her bowl of ice cream and lizard tails in front of her, brushing his hand against her neck. She leaned into his touch, sighing as she took a bite of her ice cream. “You're gonna do the study, right?” 

“Of course. I want to know what's causing this, and if it will help me find answers and a solution then I'll do it.” 

“She didn't say anything else?” Shikamaru asked. “A bit troublesome having her come here just to tell you nothing.” 

Gaara could not agree more. “It's certainly cut into my day, but I doubt it'll push me too far behind.” 

Temari snorted, rolling her eyes. “Gaara, outside of this weird issue you're having, you don't sleep. What could possibly push you behind on your work?” 

“It was still an hour of my day wasted. All she did was ask me the same questions she already had answers to and check my vitals.” 

Temari opened her mouth, but whatever she was about to say was derailed by a pained expression that transformed her face. A moment later, she doubled over, her face turning red with exertion. 

Shikamaru was at her side in an instant, taking her face in his hands. “Is it—are you all right?” 

“Labor,” she forced out. “Hospital.” 

Gaara's breath caught in his throat. As Shikamaru moved to help Temari from her seat, two ANBU materialized in their kitchen. 

“Kazekage-sama,” one ANBU spoke, breaking him from his shocked stupor. 

“My sister's just gone into labor.” The words came automatically, as though he'd rehearsed them. “Alert the hospital.” 

Shikamaru had gotten Temari from her chair, holding her up carefully. She held her stomach with one hand as though fearful the baby might come spilling from her at any moment, and crushed one of Shikamaru's in the other as pain transformed her expression once more. One of the ANBU disappeared, while the other approached Temari. 

“If I can assist in any way,” he began. 

Shikamaru's face was pale, his eyes darting back and forth. He managed to speak, his voice shaking, “Ye-yeah. Upstairs. There's. Something. I don't—”

“The baby bag. It's upstairs,” Temari said through clenched teeth. She cringed, clamping down on a pained cry as the ANBU disappeared from the room. 

“I can take her to the hopsital,” Gaara said, propelling himself towards his sister. 

“I can do it—”

“I don't care who does it!” Temari snapped. “Just get me there.” 

Gaara stepped up to Temari, his sand spiraling around his feet, spreading outward until it was a vortex encircling all three of them.

__________________________

“False labor,” Shikamaru said, exhaustion in every line of his face. 

Gaara grunted, exhausted from the pure adrenaline of the afternoon. It had been a long day, but at least Temari was well and the doctors weren't concerned for the baby. 

Gaara finally said, tiredly, "I read that it's common for women to experience false labor.” 

Shikamaru let out an exasperated laugh, running a shaking hand down his face. “No kidding. How do they do it?” 

“From what I understand, false labor occurs as a means for the body to prepare for actual labor—”

“No, I mean—that—I've never seen Temari like that. She's always so—solid. But that...” 

“Labor is excruciating,” Gaara said. “Even the strongest person wouldn't be able to deny the pain of it.” 

Gaara did not want to think about the times in his life that Temari had not been solid and steadfast. His first memory of Temari was defined by fear—his fear, not hers. He'd known her only as the vague concept of 'big sister' before properly meeting her, and the idea of her had seemed larger than life. Yashamaru had explained that Gaara's mother had been his big sister, and that big sisters were meant to love you and take care of you, and it had filled Gaara with such hope. But when he'd finally met Temari, she'd looked at him with disdain. It was the first true hurt he could remember. But that was the only time he'd ever been scared of her. After that, his memories of her were defined by her fear of him. 

But Shikamaru was right: Temari was one of the strongest people he'd ever known, and not even those memories could change that. 

“Well,” Shikamaru finally said, heavy with exhaustion. “I think I'm gonna call it a night.” 

Gaara bid him goodnight, before leaving for the peace of his office. With any luck, he would not be pulled into unwanted sleep and terrify his staff with his nightmares, but if he did, at least he wouldn't disturb his exhausted sister and brother-in-law. 

They'd had a long enough day without needing to worry about him. 

There was plenty of work to sort through once he arrived. With a task to focus on, his mind quickly shied away from his worries over his sister and the baby the day had roused in him, allowing him to relax for the first time in a week. Though he never had mountains of paperwork to sort through thanks to his work ethic and deep fear of sleep, Gaara still had plenty to do. A report from Kankurō, dated from the week prior, had made it to his desk, already decoded by a translator. There was little to the report, but it felt like a salve to a hurt he hadn't realized he'd had seeing his brother's words. The missive came with good news, as well: Kankurō would be home in just under a week, though it was likely he'd need to return to the southern coast again far sooner than he'd like to. 

Gaara allowed himself a small smile as he set the message aside. 

A knock at his office door interrupted him, and he looked up as a Chūnin poked her head in. “Excuse me, Kazekage-sama, but I have the documents you told me to keep an eye out for.” 

“Thank you,” Gaara said, returning to the remaining paperwork already on his desk. The new arrivals were set down in his inbox tray, and the Chūnin left without another word. 

The expense report he should be going over did not hold his attention for long, and his gaze slid to the more interesting new arrival: Rock Lee's transfer papers. 

He rolled his eyes, setting aside the expense report in favor of Lee's papers. Shikamaru had provided the necessary work visa, but transfer papers needed to be submitted by the Hokage and approved by Gaara before anything could be finalized, and Lee himself still needed to sign several waivers upon his arrival in Suna.

Gaara stared down at the form in his hand, as though it might answer questions he couldn't yet voice. It was such a simple piece of paper, and it offered him no insight into Lee's predicament. Had Lee accepted begrudgingly? Was he thrilled at the prospect of helping Temari and Shikamaru with their baby? Would he be vigilant in his duties, or would his depression get the better of his judgment and make him less than attentive to the helpless baby in his care? 

They were not particularly close, which made predicting Lee's behavior all the more challenging, and though he hoped this mission would do what everyone thought it would to help Lee, Gaara had his doubts, and if Lee put this child in any danger, Gaara would never forgive him. 

__________________________

Kankurō returned home earlier than anticipated. 

Gaara had imagined him arriving, exhausted and cranky from his mission to find their home overrun by Rock Lee and the new baby. He would have taken it in stride, of course, but Gaara was relieved at the chance to prepare his brother for the oncoming storm. Plus, it would have upset both Kankurō and Temari had he missed the actual birth.

“I don't gotta go to the office do I?” he groused, flopping into a seat in the living room. 

“I think I can take your report here,” Gaara returned, idly amused. 

“Good. So do you wanna hear about my mission first? Or do you guys wanna fill me in on what I've missed around here?” 

“Mission,” Gaara said before anyone could start in on the chaos of Temari's false labor. 

Kankurō heaved a sighed. “All right, well, you know the gist: around the time we went abroad last year, Rurriwa started being raided by pirates, which we figured was because of your absence. We figured once we got there, things would calm down, but the last three months haven't been quiet. Eventually the pirates backed off—not like they could do much against us—but we're worried they were only waiting for us to leave before they start up again.” 

“Does that seem likely?” Temari asked. 

“Seems likely enough to me, so we sat down and discussed what to do moving forward. They'd like it if we visited every month—at random times, so that if the pirates are watching they can't figure out a pattern.” 

“I thought Rurriwa wasn't particularly wealthy,” Shikamaru said as he came in from the kitchen, bringing in a tray of tea and a bowl of Temari's strange ice cream. He set the tray down and handed Temari her dessert before turning to Kankurō. “I mean, not that we wouldn't help them, but that does seem a strain on resources if they can't pay.” 

Kankurō grinned. “I ain't stupid. They knew they couldn't afford to keep paying us, so I suggested a trade agreement. Obviously I said nothing could be finalized until we got back and Gaara approved it, but I think you'll be happy with it. Looks like Temari's not the only one good at diplomacy anymore.” 

“I could still talk circles around you and you know it.” 

Kankurō held up his hands in surrender. “Never said you couldn't.” 

“What's the trade deal?” 

“In exchange for a monthly visit, they'll provide us with plenty of fish, water, _and_ I got them to throw in some of those fancy seashells they make weapons and jewelry out of. I laid it all out: we'll do this for six months, and if they wanna extend the contract, then we could change the agreement. I was thinkin', they have a good system for irrigation, and I know we need some work done on infrastructure, so we could probably outsource the work to Rurriwa if they keep needin' us.” 

It was a good contract, Gaara had to admit. There were plenty of available shinobi, given that peace had been successfully established after the Fourth Great Shinobi War, which meant it wouldn't truly be a strain on Suna's forces to send montly teams to the south. If anything, this had the potential to boost Suna's economy. Seafood was hard to come by in the middle of the desert, and the southern tribes had excellent weaponry. Even jewelry, while not a commodity Gaara often thought of, would help Suna in the long run. 

“Not bad, little brother,” Temari said, pride in her voice and only a hint of her usual teasing.

Kankurō preened. “So, what's new here?” 

Temari's gaze flicked to Gaara for a brief moment, but not brief enough that Kankurō would have missed it. Gaara quickly headed her off. “Temari went into false labor. It was quite the ordeal.” 

Kankurō sat up suddenly. “Everything's okay though, right?” 

Temari shot a glare in Gaara's direction. “Obviously. I wouldn't be here if it weren't. Honestly, the three of you worry too much.” 

“Well, yeah,” Kankurō said, leaning back in his chair. “Not everyday your big sis has a baby.” 

Temari's annoyance diminished slightly as she smiled, shaking her head in exasperation. “I know, but you three need to give it a rest at some point.” 

“We'll try,” Gaara offered flatly. “I think we'll all be much happier once the baby is here.” 

“Agreed,” Temari sighed. “You have no idea how exhausting being pregnant is.” 

“I'll take your word for it, sis.” 

“Speaking of the baby,” Temari said, glancing up at Shikamaru. 

“Oh. Uh. Right. So we're getting a nanny.” 

“No shit,” Kankurō said with a laugh. “Do I gotta be on my best behavior?” He batted his lashes and blew a kiss to Temari, snickering to himself. 

Temari raised an eyebrow. “Absolutely. I won't have you scaring off the person looking after my baby with your sexual wiles.” 

Shikamaru snorted, quickly hiding his face in his hands. 

“I doubt Kankurō will be able to seduce the nanny,” Gaara said casually, his gaze sliding from Temari to Kankurō. 

“Hey!” Kankurō threw a pillow at Gaara's head, which his sand promptly blocked. “I wouldn't do somethin' like that, but if I wanted to there is absolutely no way I couldn't seduce your nanny.” 

“Oh, well, then I'll be sure to warn Lee about you,” Temari said with a stifled laugh. 

Kankurō's mouth fell open. “Lee? As in Rock Lee? Bowl-cut? Green suit? _That_ Lee?”

“Do we know any others?” Gaara asked. 

Kankurō burst into laughter, doubling over and practically falling off the couch. “You're joking! There's no way! What? No one else want the job?” 

Shikamaru glared. “Lee was our first choice, actually.” 

Kankurō wiped the tears from his eyes, breathing heavy through his laughter. “What the hell for? Why not ask your teammate? What's her name? The blonde one? I mean, no offense, I just wouldn't have picked Rock Lee.” 

“If I'd asked Ino to be our nanny, I'd have come home in a full body cast. Ino is currently focused on her career—she's Head of Intelligence, you know. And to be honest, I don't think she has the patience to be a nanny. And okay, maybe Lee wouldn't have been my first choice, but he's going through some things right now. He needs this.” 

Kankurō raised his eyebrows, curiosity piqued. “He needs to play babysitter? What's got him so bent outta shape that he's gotta pack his bags for Suna for who knows how long? I don't hate the guy or anything, I just don't know how much fun livin' with him is gonna be. And I'm still havin' trouble picturing him helping to raise your kid.” 

“It's... complicated.” 

“Maito Gai is dead,” Gaara cut in. If Shikamaru didn't come right out and say it Kankurō was never going to let up. “Rock Lee has been removed from active duty. It's in his best interest to get out of Konoha and work through his grief. This is the solution his friends came up with.” 

The skepticism in Kankurō's face disappeared, replaced by the blank look of someone incredibly bad at dealing with serious emotion. “Oh. Shit.” 

“Yeah,” Shikamaru said, glancing at Gaara from the corner of his eye. “Just don't ask him about it when he gets here.” 

“You think I want him to start blubberin' to me about that? I mean, I like the guy okay, but I'm not about to sit him down and ask him about his _feelings_.” 

Temari snorted. “The Desert forbid you ever talk about feelings.” 

“I'd probably just make it worse,” Kankurō said, leveling Temari with a look. 

“Oh, no, you'd definitely make it worse,” she agreed. “I'm just saying, you could stand to talk about your feelings more.” 

Kankurō heaved a huge sigh, getting to his feet. “And that's my cue to leave. If we're all caught up here, I'm going to be—”

“Wait,” Temari said, her gaze sliding to Gaara. He quickly shook his head. 

“What?” Kankurō whined. “Look, I already promised I wouldn't hit on your nanny, what more do you want?” 

“Never mind, we'll talk about it later,” Temari said, glaring at Gaara. “But we _will_ talk about it.” 

Kankurō glanced between the two of them, frowning thoughtfully. After a silent minute of trying and failing to decipher his siblings' cryptic behavior, he groaned and turned away. “All right, whatever. I'm gonna get some sleep. Wake me if you pop the baby out, okay?” 

“Asshole,” Temari called after him. 

“You love me,” Kankurō's voice drifted from the stairwell. 

Temari leaned back in her seat, pinning Gaara with a heavy look. “We have to tell him.” 

Gaara rose to his feet, hoping to make a quick exit. “Tomorrow, if you insist.” 

“Don't take that tone with me,” she said. “I'm still your big sister and I'm not gonna have you hiding things from Kankurō. This is serious, Gaara.” 

A surge of guilt turned his stomach over. “I'm sorry I kept it from you,” he finally said. “We'll talk tomorrow. I promise.” 

Temari stared at him for a long moment before finally nodding. “Good.” 

__________________________

“You'll be on rotation,” Gaara explained. “And I expect hourly reports. There will be no interference on your part unless the baby is in immediate danger. Rock Lee is a trusted friend. This assignment is only meant as a precaution.” 

“Understood, Kazekage-sama,” the three ANBU said in unison, bowing as one. 

“Dismissed.” 

They disappeared from his office, and no sooner had they gone did the door to his office open and a message-runner from the gates enter. “Excuse me, Kazekage-sama, but Rock Lee has arrived.” 

“Has he already been let through customs?” 

“By now he should be en route to your home with an escort.” 

“I'll be home if anyone needs me.” 

He didn't waste anytime activating his teleportation jutsu. His sand whisked him from his office, and he arrived in the foyer of his home seconds later to the sound of Temari's voice floating in from the living room. 

“Lee's just arrived.” 

“It'll be fine,” Shikamaru cajoled, his voice soft. “I know it's not ideal, but I promise it's going to be okay.” 

Temari was silent. Gaara could imagine the look on her face as she tried not to let her concerns show. 

He set his gourd down in the entryway, removed his shoes, and wandered into the living room where his siblings and Shikamaru were sitting, waiting for Lee. Temari's gaze darted to Gaara immediately, as though she'd expected an intruder. He supposed, in some ways, Lee was. Aside from Shikamaru, none of them had spent any quantity time with Lee, and the three of them had always been private, guarded people. It was hardwired into them as children of the Fourth Kazekage, and deeply ingrained into Gaara as a former Jinchūriki to be cautious of the people they allowed into their lives, and especially into their home.

Shikamaru's entrance into their home had been difficult in its own right, but it hadn't happened all at once. He and Temari had dated for several years before they'd decided to do anything as drastic as live together, let alone get married and have children. Shikamaru's constant presence had been easier to adjust to, besides. He was quiet, reserved, and laid-back. He didn't take up space and, ultimately, he'd fit into their dynamic well.

Lee, however, was a wild card. Even without the looming concerns over the impact of Gai's death on him, Lee had always been strange, loud, and far too energetic. Compared to the three of them, Lee was a loose canon and it was impossible trying to imagine him fitting into their lives as seamlessly as Shikamaru had. 

“Is he here?” Temari asked. 

“Almost,” Gaara said. “He was through customs by the time I was informed of his arrival.” 

Shikamaru rubbed soothing circles against Temari's back, watching her carefully. Her expression tightened minutely, a hairline fracture of anxiety working its way onto her forehead as a thin wrinkle that she smoothed away almost at once.

“Well, I'm excited to see Bowl-Cut,” Kankurō chimed in, looking far too amused. “Ten ryo says he's gonna have you doing some weird exercise routine that's supposed to be good for the baby.” 

Temari shot a glare at Kankurō. “If he so much as tries—”

Gaara had sensed Lee long before the knock on the door cut Temari's words off. His chakra was as loud and brash as he was, an overpowering and unrefined force. Silence fell upon the room as the knock echoed from the entry way, a heavy yet subdued drumming. Despite the forewarning Shikamaru had given them, Gaara had still expected Lee's entrance into their lives to be as loud and excitable as he was. 

“I'll get it,” Gaara offered, turning from the room. 

There were few things that unnerved Gaara in the world, but the uncertainty of how Lee had changed left him feeling just that: unnerved and ill-prepared. He held the doorknob for long seconds, bracing himself for the inevitable moment when he opened the door and found Lee on the other side. He had to remind himself, several times, that Lee would be different. 

How different, he could not have ever been truly prepared for. 

On the other side of the door was a stranger. 

“Good afternoon, Kazekage-sama. It is good to see you again.” Lee's voice was familiar and foreign all at once. There was no energy behind the words, nor warmth. He spoke as though the words were a part of a script he'd practiced too many times, and had since forgotten that there should be some level of feeling behind his lines.

Gaara stared owlishly, taking in Lee as though he'd never seen him before. 

Gone was his—or rather Maito Gai's—trademark bowl-cut. Instead, he'd grown his hair out so that it fell into his eyes and curled around the nape of his neck. It was long enough that Lee had pulled it up into a small knot on the top of his head, but not long enough that it all stayed in place. In lieu of his usual attire was an all black, almost formal tunic with a pair of loose fitted pants. The tunic had a high collar and golden clasps all down the front, with long sleeves that covered Lee's bandaged arms. His bandages were the only thing unchanged about him, but even there he found something new: beneath the sleeve of his tunic, a string of white beads adorned his wrist. They were simple beads, that fell loosely into his palm as he stood waiting to be allowed entrance into Gaara's home.

When Gaara met Lee's gaze, he found even that changed; altered in some irreparable fashion, glass so shattered only molten heat could have rejoined the seams. There were heavy rings from sleepless nights bruising the circle of his eyes, and more stark than that was the dullness of their black depths. The light that had exuded from Lee before had been extinguished, and all the wonder and love for everything that had once poured from him like waterfalls was gone. It were as though the endless fountain of his soul had dried up like lands struck by drought.

Yet this was not the end of the startling and unpleasant changes Gai's death had wrought in Lee. The most jarring of all was the smile Lee offered Gaara: it was a cold and detached thing, as though Lee were an uncaring spirit unused to human expression. 

Gaara could see plainly why Shikamaru had made his choice: the Rock Lee they had known was gone, as dead as Maito Gai. 

“Rock Lee,” he finally managed, voice strangling on the name. “It's good to see you.” 

Lee's smile twisted. “And it is wonderful to see you. Thank you for placing your trust in me to watch over your sister's child.” 

“I'm not the one to thank. Shikamaru and Temari made the decision. Come in.” Gaara stepped aside, finally allowing Lee to enter his home. He watched as Lee removed his shoes in a methodic, almost automatic fashion. 

“Where are your things?” Gaara asked, realizing for the first time that the only thing Lee had with him was a small travel pack. 

“This is all I brought,” he said simply, straightening. “I did not know what my lodgings would look like, but if I have more space I can send for what I need.” 

“You'll be in the west wing, with Temari and Shikamaru. There's a room right across from the nursery that will be yours.” 

“I will be staying here then?” 

“I thought you knew. I'll be sure to have a messenger send a request for your things,” Gaara offered. “This way.”

Lee followed him into the sitting room, where Gaara's family waited on tenterhooks. 

“Lee,” Shikamaru was the first to speak, rising to his feet. “How was your trip?” 

“It was uneventful,” Lee said blandly, his smile like a toothache. “I hope I have arrived at a good time.” 

Temari and Kankurō were both staring at Lee in silence and, though they had covered their shock with the skill of seasoned shinobi, Gaara could see it reflected in their eyes, a mirror of his own.

“Thank you for having me, Temari-san,” Lee said, and Temari pulled herself from her horrified contemplation of him, rising to her feet. Lee raised one hand—the motion swift as an airborne knife, but somehow unlike him. He held it up, like a one-handed prayer to a deaf god, and his smile grew more false. “Please, do not get up on my account.” 

“It's fine,” Temari said, finally on her feet. “I need to get up anyways. We have to show you to your room. Where's the rest of your stuff?” 

“I did not bring much with me. I was not aware of how much space I would have at my disposal.” 

Temari shot a glare at Shikamaru. “You didn't tell him—”

“I forgot! There was a lot happening!” 

“Please do not argue on my behalf. I should have asked, but it slipped my mind.” 

“Sorry, Lee, but it's good to see you. How's Konoha?” 

“The same.” Lee didn't elaborate.

Shikamaru side-stepped the tone in Lee's voice, saying, “Suna'll take some getting used to for you, but I assume you packed some weather appropriate clothes.” 

“I believe so.” 

The interaction was painful to watch, even for Gaara who often found long-winded conversations difficult. Lee spoke with a rigidity, unwilling to say more than absolutely necessary, while Shikamaru tried to dodge the unknown explosive tags littered within casual conversation. There was no way to know what would upset Lee and what would not, and Gaara could see how Shikamaru struggled. It did not bode well for the rest of them, who knew Lee even less. 

Gaara shared a look with Kankurō behind Lee's back, a silent plea for Kankurō's easy-going nature to rescue their sister and her husband. 

“Well, Bowl-Cut,” Kankurō said, taking the hint. “Or—I guess I can't call you that anymore, huh?” 

“It is not as fitting,” Lee agreed. 

“I'll think of somethin',” Kankurō assured with a shrug, grinning crookedly. “I've got plenty of time, right? I mean, you're not goin' anywhere anytime soon.” 

“I was not actually sure how long my services would be needed, but I assumed at least several months.” 

Kankurō's grin slipped, his forehead wrinkling. “Ah, yeah, well, I'll think of somethin'!” 

The room fell silent, everyone looking at Lee as though he were a ghost, while he smiled vacantly back at them. 

“Right!” Temari said, voice shrill. “How about we give you the grand tour?” 

“That would be lovely.”

Lee followed after Temari and Shikamaru without a word. Temari's voice carried down the hall, still high with strain, as she described their home to him. 

Kankurō stared after them until they'd disappeared up the west-wing staircase, waited a beat, and then let out a low whistle. “Fuck, man.” 

Gaara could not agree more. “I think that may be an understatement.” 

“I don't think there's a word strong enough for _that._ I mean—you saw him, right? You heard him, right? That was not—who the hell _was_ that?” 

Gaara wished he knew, but whoever Rock Lee had become, he hoped it was someone they could trust.

__________________________

Lee's presence was immediately felt—and not simply because his chakra was so inexpertly masked and so much larger than Gaara had ever realized that it carried through the whole estate. 

The moment Lee had stepped over the threshold of their home a chill had crept in, like the silent hush of a ghost traipsing through the halls. Every time the echo of his heavy foot-falls trembled through the house, it felt like the restless dead moaning of some long-past anguish. 

Gaara spent the remainder of the day at home, helping to distract Temari from this new interloper. 

“Has he come out?” Shikamaru asked, setting the table for dinner. He held an extra plate in his hands, like the question mark hovering over everything since Lee had arrived that afternoon. 

“I haven't seen him.” Gaara checked for any last remaining spines on the cactus pads he'd been placed in charge of before setting them on the counter where Kankurō was slicing preserved lemons. “These are good.” 

“Think he's just been in his room,” Kankurō said. “I left a puppet eye in the hall—not that I don't trust him,” he added quickly, glancing at Shikamaru, “—it's just weird havin' someone new here.” 

“It'll take some getting used to,” Temari agreed, waddling in with a massive bowl of rice resting on her stomach. She set it in the deep sink, letting a gentle stream of water run into the bowl. 

“Getting used to, sure,” Kankurō agreed. “But how're we s'pposed to do that if he's cooped up in his room?”

“I concede your point.” 

“Watch out. Sis is conceding to me, that means I'm becoming the brains of the family.” 

“Shaddup,” Temari said, flicking water from her fingers in Kankurō's direction. “That deal you made is getting to your head.” 

“What can I say?” Kankurō shrugged, exaggeratedly blase. “I'm the whole package.” 

“A whole fuckin' pain in the ass,” Temari muttered. She shut the water off before shoving her hands into the rice and massaging away the excess starch. “Lee'll come out when he's ready. I told him to join us for dinner, and he's been so polite since getting here, I doubt he'll turn it down.” 

“Lee's always polite,” Shikamaru pointed out. 

“Bowl-Cut—I mean—whatever! Lee's not a bad guy, but don't you think he's a lil' too polite? I mean, I don't know about you, but I don't wanna come home to 'Kankurō- _san_ '. I get it's a bit different in Konoha, but we're not hung up on that stuff here unless you're the Kazekage.” 

“I don't like it either,” Gaara pointed out. “If I wanted to be called by my title at home, I'd let my personal assistant live here.” 

Kankurō snorted into his hand. “Bet she'd _love_ that.” 

“Bet you'd love giving her shit,” Temari parried as she finished washing the rice. She drained the starchy water into a separate bowl, scooped up the bowl of clean rice and bumped past Kankurou, knocking him with her hips. 

“Hey! Watch it! I've got a knife here.” 

“Then pay attention before you cut yourself.” 

“We just need to give him time,” Shikamaru said, interrupting the bickering. His gaze drifted towards the staircase that led up to west wing, where Lee's distinctive chakra signature had not moved. “Things have been hard on him. Team Gai isn't even a team anymore—Neji was like a brother to him, and Gai...” 

“What's that gotta do with him droppin' the formalities?” Kankurō asked. 

“Tenten could explain it better, but she warned me before I agreed to all this: Lee isn't going to magically get better, and it's going to be hard for him to adjust to being here. He's only ever been that close with Tenten and Neji—they're his family, and now she's all he's got left. He's not going to settle into a new family just like that.” 

The severity of Lee's loss silenced the full kitchen, filling the large space with the starkness of Lee's loss. The sound of their cooking preparations echoed oddly, like the dull clattering of spirits stomping through a boneyard. The thud of Gaara's knife against the cutting board was loud in his ears, thrumming up his arm and into his head. The pieces of fruit were steeped in their juices, too bright a pink to look like blood, yet somehow still a gruesome reminder of carnage all the same. He stared down at his hands which were now covered in the juice from the cactus' pears, as dark thoughts prickled at him like cactus spines.

“He's moving,” Kankurō said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence like a whip. “Guess you were right, Temari. Too polite by half.” 

The floorboards creaked above them, Lee's movements through the upper level of the west wing echoing with each step. 

“Guy walks like an elephant,” Kankurō whispered, watching the west stairwell, tension in the line of his shoulders. 

“Hush,” Temari snapped, tipping the rice into a massive waiting pot on the stove. She pointed to the variety of chopped and diced meats and vegetables. “Is that ready?”

“Go ahead.” Kankurō slid the last of the preserved lemon towards her, so she could begin filling the three waiting tagine. “Did you grab the saffron?” 

“Dammit, I knew I was forgetting something. Shikamaru—” The lowest step creaked heavily, announcing Lee's arrival. “Oh, Lee! Have you settled in all right?” 

The strain in Temari's voice was hard to miss. 

“Yes. Thank you, Temari-san.” 

Lee had changed his clothes for a different black tunic and trousers, along with fresh bandages, but his smile was still the same and he still looked as alien as he had standing on the threshold of their home. 

“Did you need anything?” Shikamaru asked. “I know we're sending for the rest of your stuff, but in the meantime?” 

“I will be all right. Thank you.” 

No one said anything, and though Lee did not seem particularly aware of the tension in the room, Gaara felt it nagging at him like the memories of children screaming at his approach. 

“Shikamaru, would you mind getting the saffron from the pantry?” Temari finally asked, voice high with false cheer. 

“Sure,” Shikamaru said slowly, glancing from Lee to his wife. “Do we need anything else?” 

“Did you grab the dates?” Kankurō asked, finally looking away from Lee. 

“Shit.” 

“Did you remember anything besides the rice?” 

“Um...” Temari gave an awkward smile, shrugging her shoulders. “No.” 

“Would you like some assistance, Shikamaru-kun?” Lee asked. 

“Sure.” Shikamaru's slow drawl managed to punctuate the discomfort of everyone in the room. He motioned for Lee to follow him from the room, pausing at the door. “Dates, saffron—what else?” 

“Fennel, chickpeas,” Kankurō listed off, looking at the arrangement of everything still on the counter. He leaned over, checking the tagine. “How about grabbing more onion, too? And some cumin and paprika. I think that's all we're missing.” 

“The almonds,” Gaara reminded him. 

“Oh, shit, yeah. Those too. Hey, when's the next shipment of silk coming in?” 

“At the start of next month, I believe,” Gaara said, watching Lee duck beneath the heavy tapestry leading to the pantry, following after Shikamaru. “Why?” 

“Nuthin', just remembered I needed to get a bulk order of silk string.” 

“New project?” Temari asked, stirring a small bit of rice water into the three tagine. “Will three of these be enough?” 

“Should be. And yeah, it's for the Troupe. The younger puppeteers have to start working with actual chakra-string for the show.” 

“I didn't realize they'd moved on to chakra-string practice,” Gaara said. “I'll talk with Head of Imports. We can probably add to our last order.” 

“You sure?” 

“It's fine. We were frugal with last month's shipments, and the delegates I spoke with from the Oasis village have agreed to completely cut the tariffs on all imports to Suna in exchange for more shinobi-tourism. Apparently the Daimyo's becoming more brazen there.” 

“That bastard,” Temari grumbled. “Okay, I need to sit. Sorry, boys, you get to do the hard work on this.” 

Kankurō waved her off. “Sit the fuck down before your baby drops outta ya.” 

Temari gave him an icy glare, carefully lowering herself into a chair and leaning back. “Anyway,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “What's the daimyo been doing in the Oasis? I mean, I thought they'd established themselves as sovereign.” 

“They had,” Gaara confirmed, passing the cactus pears to Kankurō. “Are you juicing those?” 

“Yeah, I was gonna make some tea with 'em.” Kankurō tipped the board of pears into a bowl. “Did you want me to add them to the tagine?” 

“There should be enough flavor in there already,” Temari said. “Back to the Daimyo though...” 

“He's been pushing to tax them. He insists that because the Oasis is still in this country, it should be a resource available to the capitol—”

“Like that bastard's ever given anyone access to _his_ resources,” Kankurō muttered. 

“—and he's insisting that the village is hoarding their resources selfishly, forcing the capitol to look elsewhere for sources of food and water. The Oasis' Sovereign has been noticing strange occurrences at night, and believes that the Daimyo is trying to funnel their water through illegal irrigation.” 

“No shit,” Temari breathed.

“An increase in shinobi traveling to the Oasis will deter him,” Gaara went on. 

“How much is that saving us on the imports from there?” 

“Annually, it'll save a thousand ryō.” 

Kankurō whistled. “That. Is. A good. Fuckin'. Deal.” 

“I'd have to agree,” Gaara said, a small grin making its way onto his face. “I am, on occasion, good at making those.” 

“No kiddin'. Guess that's why they made you Kazekage.” Kankurō rose from his seat. “I'm gonna check the coals. I'll be right back. Can you handle the seasoning while I'm gone?”

Gaara rolled his eyes. “I'm not that terrible a cook.” 

“Gaara,” Temari said seriously, reaching to take his hand. She patted it gently, looking up at him imploringly. “Yes, you are. You are my dearest baby brother, but you are a terrible. _Terrible_ cook. And I would not be doing my sisterly duties if I were not honest with you about that. Don't worry, Kankurō, I'll have Shikamaru handle the seasoning.” 

“Gotcha, sis!” Kankurō said, disappearing from the kitchen out a back door. 

“What am I doing?” Shikamaru asked, returning with his hands full. Lee followed behind, equally laden down. 

“My husband with the impeccable timing.” Temari reached for him, wrapping her arm around his waist. “Could you please save us from Gaara's cooking and season the food?” 

Shikamaru laughed, leaning down to place a kiss on her head. “Absolutely.” 

“I'm not that bad,” Gaara ground out. 

“Maybe not now that Lee's here.” 

“Am I a bad cook?” Lee asked blandly, setting everything down on the counter. 

“Only if you think burning a hole in someone's tongue counts as bad cooking.” 

“I see. Shall I refrain from offering any further assistance then?” 

“Of course, Lee, you've been traveling for days,” Temari said. “Come sit with me and Gaara. Shikamaru and Kankurō can handle the rest.” 

“If it is not too much trouble.” Lee sat across from Temari, in the seat next to Gaara's. 

“Of course it isn't,” Temari confirmed. 

“You've only just arrived. You should relax.” 

“Yeah, take a break before the hard work actually starts,” Shikamaru said, mixing spices in a mortar. 

“You are due soon, correct?” 

“Any day now.” Temari yawned behind one hand, patting her belly with the other. “Honestly, if this baby doesn't come in the next week, I'll have to induce. I can't take much more of this.” 

“It must be extremely taxing,” Lee said, staring at Temari's belly. “If there is anything I can do until the day, I am at your disposal.” 

“I have a whole army of people to support me.” She waved his comment aside. “You should focus on getting settled. Shikamaru is here and Kankurō's got time off since he just got back from a mission. Trust me, I have plenty of help.” 

“I'll be home tomorrow as well,” Gaara put in. He did his best not to stare at Lee, more conscious of his tendency towards dissecting any enigma before him with the knowledge that Lee's changes—though startling—had an easily knowable source. 

“I can show you around the village tomorrow,” Shikamaru offered before turning back to Temari. “Unless you need me.” 

Temari waved him off. “I think that's a good idea. You should go to the market. I'm sure you saw, Lee, but our pantry is massive, so there's plenty of room if you have any particular foods you want for yourself. You don't need to worry too much about dinners, though.” 

“Do you always dine together?” 

“Unless work gets in the way. It's been easier since I went on maternity leave, but we always made time to sit down together at least once a week even before my pregnancy.” 

“That is a nice tradition.” 

“That's how it is in Suna,” Kankurō said, coming in from the back. “Coals are hot. How's the food comin?” 

“Untouched by your brother,” Shikamaru snarked, placing a lid on a tagine. “This one's all set. I'll bring these two out in a sec.” 

“How it is in Suna?” Lee asked, as Kankurō disappeared. 

“Most homes are generational—so grandparents, parents, and children all live in the same house, and eating dinner together is an important part of home life.” 

“It's a tradition we brought back after our father died,” Gaara added. “We'd never shared a meal in this house until after his death.” 

“Which is why it's important for us that we not miss meals. Gaara has the hardest time because of his schedule, but we make it work.” 

“It sounds like you have a very full home life.” Lee's voice was hollow, almost dismissive, especially accompanied by the smile that didn't reach his eyes.

“And you'll be a part of that.” Temari might not have been fully comfortable with Lee's presence yet, but her tone left no room for arguing. Whether Lee liked it or not, he would become a part of their family as far as she was concerned. 

“Of course.” Lee's smile strained, the edges of it trembling like it might break at any moment. “I would be honored.” 

“I'll be right back,” Shikamaru said, his gaze on Lee.

“We'll be here,” Temari called after him. 

The three fell silent as Shikamaru retreated. 

Gaara could usually sit in silence without it bothering him, and he did so often with his family, but Lee's presence had altered the silence, turning the comfort of before to an omnipresent tension that permeated Gaara down to his bones. 

For his part, Lee did not seem overly bothered by it. Perhaps it was what he wanted: to present his host's with no chances at getting close to him or breaking down the walls he'd erected around himself. 

“Have you had the chance to try Suna's food before?” Temari finally asked. 

“Not much of it,” Lee said simply. 

Silence followed again, broken up by the sound of approaching feet. 

“And dinner is cookin'!” Kankurō announced. “I'll get these pears juiced, and then we can sit.” 

“Do we have any bread?” 

“We still have some m'semen from breakfast,” Shikamaru said. 

“Can you heat some up? I'm starving, and I'm sure Lee's hungry after his long journey.” 

“What is mm—mm—?” Lee struggled to wrap his tongue around the foreign word. “What is that?” 

“It's a type of bread. Sort of like a hot cake, I guess?” 

“I'll grab some honey,” Gaara said, rising from his seat. He needed an excuse to get away from Lee and the tension radiating from him. 

“Thank you,” Temari said, a knowing smile on her face as he made his escape. 

He found Kankurō in the pantry, sifting through a shelf of jars. 

“You lookin' for an escape too?” He threw a crooked grin over his shoulder at Gaara. “Ah, there it is.” 

“He's not exactly...” 

“No kiddin.” Kankurō shook his head, his smile slipping away. “It's hard to see it. I'm so used to how he used to be, ya know? And it's like—it's written all over his face: every minute he's living is hell. Guess that's being a shinobi, huh?” 

Gaara knew well what it meant to hate life, and he knew what it meant to lose someone precious, but it had been many years since he'd lost anyone as precious to him as Gai had been to Lee. Even the thought of losing his siblings was unbearable, especially after everything they'd been through and how far they'd come. He could imagine, almost too easily, how quickly he would give up on his life if he were to lose either Kankurō or Temari—the thought of losing both, however, was beyond the reckoning. 

“He just needs time,” Gaara said, more to reassure himself than because he thought it was true. Time did heal—he knew that better than most—but from the look of Lee, even an infinite lifetime would not be long enough. 

“You think that's all he needs?” 

The question nagged at Gaara as he returned to the kitchen, honey in hand. Shikamaru stood at the oven, heating up the m'semen, while describing the marketplace to Lee. Kankurō slipped into the kitchen behind Gaara, making for the back door again, his bowl of pears in one hand and a tray of assorted things in the other. 

“That sounds lovely,” Lee said, the final word coming out acidic, as though it had done him personal injury. 

Lee's attention shifted, his posture tensing as Gaara re-entered the room. No matter how long he'd been away from his duties, his instincts were still sharp. 

“While you're there, could you pick me up some sfenj?” Temari asked sleepily of Shikamaru.

“'Course,” Shikamaru said, pulling the last pieces of bread from the pan and setting it on a plate. “We'll try not to be gone all day. Gaara, do you want me to pick you up anything?” 

“I'm fine,” Gaara said, setting the honey on the table beside the steaming plate of bread. 

They lapsed once again into silence, and Temari motioned for Lee to take the first piece of m'semen. They ate in silence for long minutes, just honey and bread to occupy their tongues while the silence stretched around them, growing tenser as it echoed through the large kitchen. It took an excruciatingly long hour, filled with silence one moment and awkward attempts at conversation the next, for their dinner to finish. Once it was ready, it was easier to ignore the dark cloud that was Rock Lee, sitting at their kitchen table, but it was by far the most unpleasant dinner of Gaara's life. 

Lee was sufficiently polite, ate a healthy portion of food that rivaled Gaara's own, and complimented the meal with more sincerity than anything else he'd done since arriving, but he was otherwise quiet and distant, only adding to the conversation when addressed, and never sharing too much, always leaving the others guessing at what thoughts lay behind his eyes.

At meal's end, Temari refused to let Lee help them clean, insisting that he rest after his long journey, and so Lee disappeared from the kitchen with another thank you and a perfunctory good night. 

Gaara did not miss his presence once they were free of it. 

__________________________

A week after Lee's entrance into their lives, Gaara's patience had run thin. 

It was not Lee's fault that Gaara felt so hunted by his grief, but he wanted Lee gone before the baby had a chance to grow attached to him nonetheless. It was an entirely selfish desire—they needed a nanny and Lee needed something to resurrect the once indefatigable joy in his heart. Gaara did not wish for Lee's continued suffering, but he was a creature of habit and, more than that, he enjoyed the life he'd built with his family. It had taken years to foster the easy comfort that existed between them now—in fact, it had felt like a lifetime of work to reach a place where they could tease him without even a flicker of fear. It had been a harsh process full of missteps and misgivings, but it had led him and his family to the place they were now: they were a proper family, who loved and cared for one another. 

And just like that, it was ruined. 

Lee was reclusive and quiet. He was so polite that it balanced on the edge of being rude, his politeness a shield from all of them, including Shikamaru. He smiled and demurred, and he never forgot a single honorific, and the entire time it all felt so unpleasantly fake and irritatingly rehearsed that every 'thank you' sounded like an insult and every greeting like a curse. Lee's pain leaked from him like blood gushing from a badly dressed wound, and he covered it all up with strange smiles that begged discomfort from others, forced them to look away instead of asking after him.

Gaara couldn't parse through this version of Rock Lee and, quite uncharitably, he didn't want to. 

“Since you're a heavy sleeper, will you be okay if the baby wakes up in the middle of the night?” Shikamaru's voice trailed from the kitchen into Gaara's study. 

Gaara had spent most of the last week out, unwilling to see more of Lee than strictly necessary. Today, however, he'd forgotten an important document from Kankurō's latest mission on his desk, forcing him to return home in the middle of the day. 

“It will not be a problem.” Lee's voice, though unpleasantly bland, still carried through the house . Gaara tensed, his skin prickling with annoyance. 

“Are you sure? Temari and I are fine if you can't. My duties when I'm here in Suna don't demand quite as much from me, and Temari's work is mostly diplomatic and she's not taking on any missions outside of the village until the baby's at least six months—possibly even a year.” 

“Really, it will be fine.” 

Gaara stopped on the threshold of his office, head turned slightly towards the kitchen. The false cheer of Lee's voice was strained, something cold catching in his tenor. 

“All right, but you'll let us know if it becomes a problem. We knew going into this we would be losing sleep for a while.” 

“Babies are a lot of work.” The sound of a chair scraping across the stone floor exploded from the kitchen. “Excuse me, I should get to the market before it is too late.” 

“Will you be back in time for dinner?” 

Lee's presence at the dinner table had been as constant as his mood. Temari hadn't been wrong to assume he would not refuse them, but it had become apparent—at least to Gaara—that he wanted to, and that every time he sat down at the table, he was angry at them for their kindness.

“Of course.” Lee's heavy footsteps—a sure sign he still wore his weights—echoed across the stone, and Gaara ducked into his office before Lee could see him eaves dropping. He waited for the sound of the door closing behind Lee to make his exit. 

“Hiding from Lee again?” Shikamaru leaned against the archway leading into the kitchen, staring off into the distance. There was a heaviness in his voice, and resignation and sorrow weighed against his shoulders.

“I wouldn't call it hiding,” Gaara said, a spark of irritation chaffing at him. He'd never hidden from anything in his life, and he certainly had no reason to hide from Rock Lee. 

“Would you prefer I had said 'avoiding'?” Shikamaru raised an eyebrow, his tone almost amused, but still too heavy for such a thing. His expression went lax, a sigh as weighted as his resignation escaping him. “I'm sorry for bringing this upon you. I know it hasn't been easy.” 

Gaara contemplated Shikamaru's profile for a beat, mulling over his response. He was always careful with his words, always thoughtful of the word order on the off chance someone misinterpreted him. In all his life, he'd never been in a situation where he felt it necessary to ensure that someone _didn't_ interpret his words correctly. Much as he'd never had reason to hide from anything, he'd also never had reason to lie—outside of the obvious undercover operation, which he rarely took on. 

“In my experience, healing is not easy.” That was at least the truth, and one he was well acquainted with. He frowned as his words repeated themselves in his mind, an uneasy guilt settling over him. If his siblings hadn't given him a chance while he'd healed, would things be as they were now? Didn't Lee deserve that same level of compassion? After all, Lee hadn't murdered countless innocents, he was grieving a loss. 

“No,” Shikamaru agreed after several beats, dark memories of his own clouding his eyes. “But I never meant to bring this here. If he becomes too much of a burden, I'll send him away.” 

“It's only been a week,” Gaara said, more to himself than Shikamaru. “We should be more patient.” 

“Do you mean _you_ should be more patient?” 

Gaara couldn't help the amused twitch of his mouth. “Am I that obvious?” 

“Only because we know you. Lee doesn't—and even if he did...” He trailed off. “It doesn't matter. It's your home, and I don't want to impose.” 

“You're not an imposition,” Gaara cut in. “And this is our home—you're a part of this family, Shikamaru.” 

Shikamaru nodded, but his mouth was pursed tight. He ran a hand down his face, the bobbing of his head turning to a frustrated shake. “I know, I know. And I'm grateful to be a part of it. But Lee isn't, and—I care about him, but if his state of mind affects my family negatively I can't justify keeping him here. Tenten can figure it out—ugh, I sound like an ass—”

“You sound frustrated.” Gaara was relieved that he wasn't the only one. He hadn't doubted that his siblings were put off by Lee, but hearing Shikamaru voice his frustrations made him feel less guilty. “We'll get through it. How's Temari?” 

“Napping. She's been extra tired this week. Honestly, I hope the baby gets here soon. Her back's been bothering her so much—everything has. Not that she's letting it show.” 

“Never,” Gaara said with a quiet smile. Trust his sister to view symptoms of her pregnancy as a weakness to hide from the world. “I'll be home tonight just in case.” 

“That's a good idea. At this point, she's late, so the baby could come any time now.” 

“Should we be worried? I can have an ANBU medical detail stationed here just in case.” 

“Nah,” Shikamaru said, though Gaara doubted he wasn't worried. “I guess it's not abnormal, and we have the option to induce—Temari certainly wants to, but I think she's actually be scared to. But they say the baby's healthy and everything looks normal, even with her being late.” 

“That's good, and I suppose it's better she's late than early.” 

“True. Well, I'll let you get back to work. I'm sure if Temari's awake she's gonna be looking for me.” 

“Then I won't keep you.” 

Shikamaru disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Gaara to his own worries about his sister and Rock Lee. 

He decided to walk back to his office in the hopes of clearing his mind. 

The spines of the cacti surrounding the perimeter of his home glittered in the late afternoon sun, the fluorescent pink flowers open at their crowns attracting the wasps that had made a home nearby. Gaara watched as several wasps turned to him, raising their abdomens up and spreading their wings in a V of warning as he passed. It had only been a couple short weeks since the wasps had made their nest—Gaara had sensed them burrowing in the dead of night and issued a warning to his ANBU to avoid the location during detail—and he didn't expect the wasps to trust him immediately, if ever. Still, he hoped that in time they would recognize him enough to understand that he was not a threat. 

Past the wall of cactus, framed by the shimmering glass greenhouses, the road was silent. Apart from the greenhouses, there were no homes or businesses in the immediate vicinity, leaving the streets around his home mostly empty, though sometimes he would catch braver children playing games nearby. This was not a frequent occurrence, as most children had heard tales of his childhood whispered here or there, and thus treated the Kazekage's house with a fearful reverence. 

He hoped that the baby would never learn that same fear.

The noise of the village grew gradually as he meandered past the last row of greenhouses and arrived in the Theater District, where the Puppet Brigade Theater was advertising the latest upcoming Genin production. This district was usually quiet during the day—barring festivals, daytime productions, or puppeteer combat training—but a few children mingled near the entrance of the main theater with toy replicas of some of the more infamous puppets the theater boasted, including several that Gaara recognized as Kankurō's designs. 

He watched from the corner of his eye, keeping a tight control of his chakra as he walked past so as not to disturb the playing children. 

The Theater District was a meandering strip, colorful and vibrant, that ended abruptly just before the heart of the village. Its end was marked by the saturated, rich blue of the village's chaitya, the oldest building in Suna. A thrumming, rippling music always echoed from within the prayer hall, deep and beautiful and a hint mournful. The sound echoed from the heart of the village, like ripples in a pond. 

“Kazekage-sama,” several devotees greeted as he passed the the blue hall, their voices warm with respect. 

He didn't often stop at the chaitya, usually only acknowledging the hall and its devotees with a nod on his way back to his office, but today he paused, staring past the vibrant blue archway into the hall-proper where music echoed like the howl of the wind. He took a step inside, standing beneath the blue arch and staring up into the vastness of the curved ceiling. The glass mosaic tiles beneath his feet reflected the light of the sun so that the hall shimmered, and the carvings in the blue stone seemed to move. 

“This is a welcome surprise, Kazekage-sama,” a devotee murmured, bowing deeply. Her veil covered her hair, as blue as the hall and threaded with shots of silver and white. Some of the devotees wore a veil similar to hers, while others wore veils the color of sand with gold threads like the sun shining from within the silk. “Did you wish to join us for our midday prayer?” 

He hesitated a moment, weighing his options. He kept to a tight schedule, one that he preferred not to deviate from so long as he could help it—though sleepless nights gave him endless hours, the Kazekage's work was never done. 

“Does something trouble you, Kazekage-sama?” the devotee asked, kindness in the black depths of her eyes. They reminded him of Rock Lee. 

“I think I can make time today,” he relented. He could count on one hand the amount of times he'd entered the chaitya to pray: once, just after Suna's failed collaboration with Orochimaru to take down Konoha. With his father dead and his world turned upside down, Gaara—still the monster of Suna—had entered the vibrant blue hall, knelt before the shrine at the center, and prayed. 

The devotees had kept their distance that time, their terror like sweat dripping from their pores as they'd watched him.

He hadn't known how to pray then—he hadn't known what chants to recite, what rituals to perform, how long he was meant to kneel, or even who or what he was praying to. He'd knelt for an hour, until the thin layer of sand around his body dug into the soft skin of his knees and _hurt_. Hurt the way Rock Lee had hurt him; hurt the way Uchiha Sasuke had hurt him; hurt the way Uzumaki Naruto had hurt him. 

_I don't want to be a monster anymore._

His prayer had been answered then, maybe it could be answered now. 

He didn't have time for a communal prayer, but he wound his way through the gathered crowd, making for the shrine at the back. There were five symbols carved into the stone, all surrounding a lone figure at the center of the shrine's face. The figure was neither man nor woman, sun nor moon, wind nor sand, and their stone eyes bore into Gaara's as he knelt before them. 

Twelve years ago, he'd looked into those eyes and asked for forgiveness in his own inept way. 

Now, he prayed for a different kind of release. 

He only hoped this prayer would be answered more swiftly than his first. 

__________________________

Devotion to Suna's gods wasn't going to save him from Rock Lee's presence, try as he might to remember the patience he'd promised of himself earlier that day. 

With Temari's due date now past, Gaara could not bring himself to stay in his office all day and all night, so he returned home with piles of work to keep him occupied once dinner and forced contact with Lee had ended. Thankfully, that night dinner was a much shorter affair than usual, due in large part to Temari's exhaustion. 

“Tomorrow,” she said to Shikamaru as he helped her from her seat. “We'll induce tomorrow.” 

Shikamaru paled, nodding silently and helping her towards the staircase, leaving the rest of them to clean. Kankurō promptly shooed Lee from the kitchen, desperate for a reprieve from his presence as much as Gaara. 

“We can handle it,” he assured Lee. “Sounds like you're about to have a lot of work, so you best focus on getting ready for the baby.” 

“If you are sure.” Lee might have demurred further for the sake of politeness, but he seemed genuinely concerned about the upcoming birth of new responsibility. It was a relief to see something in him besides the bitter detachedness he'd exuded since his arrival. 

“Think Bowl-Cut's excited,” Kankurō said once Lee had departed, a halfhearted amusement in his tone. 

“We'll see.” Gaara still had his doubts. 

They cleaned the kitchen in silence, the reality that by this time tomorrow they'd be uncles making them thoughtful. It was both exciting and terrifying, a daunting new experience that was more fraught than it needed to be thanks entirely to Lee. 

And there Gaara was being uncharitable again. 

He shook away all thoughts of Lee, finishing up in the kitchen and excusing himself to his study to work through the night. 

The night wore on with meticulous work: reviewing the finalized documents for the agreement between Suna and Rurriwa, the southern-most village of Jade Province; organizing the first official shinobi visit to the Oasis; the finance report for Suna's expected silk imports; the potential new trade agreement from the western diplomats Gaara had met with. 

There were countless documents, and by the time Gaara looked up from the worst of the pile, it was almost midnight. 

Gaara rose from his seat, setting aside the diplomats' proposal—a long-winded article of all the goods they wanted to push on Suna, some of which would be useful in bolstering the economy, while the rest were superfluous things that would most likely be a drain on it. He'd stared at the documents long enough that the words no longer made sense—it was time for coffee and a snack. 

Perhaps he could order in. There were a handful of kiosks and restaurants open late to cater to shinobi working the graveyard shift, and Gaara hadn't bothered to order in since Shikamaru's return. Their family meals usually provided plenty of leftovers, and little need for take-out. He mulled it over, ignoring the ever present throb of Lee's chakra that seemed to run through the house like the tremors of an earthquake. 

He couldn't understand how a shinobi as high ranking as Lee could move through the world like that. He'd never really noticed it before, perhaps too concerned with Lee's exuberance, but now that he was living with it, it had become a constant headache. 

He flicked the light on in the kitchen and stopped short at the sight of Rock Lee, leaning over a cup of his own tea, head in his hands. 

Lee jerked his head up, blinking owlishly in the suddenly illuminated kitchen. 

“Ah, Kazekage-sama,” Lee greeted, voice scratchy and thick. He wore a light robe and his hair was sticking up at the back. His eyes were puffy and red, the bruises around them more pronounced; his face was drawn and pale, exhaustion weighing down his expression; his shoulders were hunched, so that his figure appeared smaller and more fragile than a man of his strength should. He looked stricken, as though he'd seen a ghost. 

“Excuse the intrusion,” Gaara murmured, weighing his options. He could go back to his study without coffee, or he could get it and be forced to interact with Lee one-on-one. If he left, it would be obvious he was avoiding Lee, and so he settled on the latter, albeit reluctantly. 

“It is no intrusion,” Lee said. He sounded tired and his tea was still steaming. He hadn't been up for long, Gaara guessed. “It is your kitchen, after all.” 

Tired or not, Lee's painfully distant smile found its way to his face. It was a more halfhearted attempt than usual, but it still grated on Gaara's nerves. 

With nothing to say to Lee's comment, he made for the stove and the kettle. “I didn't hear you come downstairs.” 

“I was quiet. I did not want to wake anyone.” 

So Lee _could_ walk without causing an earthquake. Gaara's gaze slid to the floor, checking Lee's ankles. If he still wore his weights, they were nowhere to be found now. 

“Shikamaru and Temari are light sleepers,” was all Gaara could offer. “Occupational hazard, Temari says.” 

Lee didn't comment—no witty banter, no demurring, not even a hum of acknowledgment. He stared down into his cup of tea in silence, and Gaara quickly turned his attention back to the kettle. There was still enough hot water left for Gaara to make a cup of coffee without needing to wait for the water to heat up.

He disappeared into the pantry in search of the spices and beans. In one corner of the pantry, Lee had commandeered a shelf and filled it with things to his liking, another stark example of how Lee had come into their lives and made his mark. Gaara glared at the offending items for a moment before huffing and turning away. 

Back in the kitchen, he prepared his coffee in silence, which was typical enough of his late night forays into the kitchen that it shouldn't have unsettled him. But Lee's presence altered the silence, as it always did, making it heavy and uncomfortable. With the silence grating on his nerves, Gaara desperately searched for something to fill it, something he'd never before done in his life. 

“What kind of tea is that?” he asked Lee, as the water seeped through the beans of his coffee. Late night, he didn't make such an elaborate production of coffee preparation, but he could never forgo the spices and sugar he so favored. 

“Chamomile.” 

“Something from Konoha?” Chamomile did not grow wild in Suna, and importing it from other regions was often costly because it was so susceptible to fungi and mildew. Perhaps he should order a shipment of seeds and attempt its growth in the greenhouses. 

“Yes.” Lee's now trademark one word answers were going to be the death of Gaara. 

“I've never had it before,” Gaara admitted, trying in vain to get Lee to talk for reasons he couldn't articulate. 

“You are welcome to try some,” Lee offered, because of course he did. “It is good for calming the nerves and helping one fall asleep.” 

Gaara knew Lee hadn't meant to share this as an insight into his psyche, but it certainly told Gaara what Lee's red eyes and an overheard conversation with Shikamaru had already indicated: Lee was having trouble sleeping. 

“I don't need help sleeping.” Gaara needed help not sleeping, which was not something he wanted to share with Lee. 

“No,” Lee agreed, before lapsing into silence. 

Gaara picked up his cup of coffee, stirring it to mix the flavor throughout. “I was going to order something to eat. Did you want anything?” 

A thud, followed by a loud bang and heavy footsteps above interrupted their conversation—if it could be called that—and moments later, a harried Shikamaru, his hair down and sticking every-which-way appeared. 

“The baby—she's—it's happening!” 

“You're sure?” Gaara couldn't help but ask, remembering the last time they'd thought Temari had gone into labor. 

Shikamaru nodded, opening and closing his mouth like a confused fish. 

“I shall go wake Kankurō-san,” Lee offered, rising to his feet. He disappeared a millisecond later, leaving only a gust of wind in his wake. 

Gaara sent a signal to his ANBU, chakra snapping like a whip to call them to him. They appeared instantly. “My sister has gone into labor. Alert the hospital.” 

One ANBU disappeared, leaving two remaining. “What can we do, Kazekage-sama?” 

“Shikamaru—”

“Upstairs,” Shikamaru said numbly. “We—the—get her to the hospital.” 

“It would be best if she walked,” Lee's voice carried from the east-wing's stairwell, halting the ANBU. Heavy footfalls echoed down the staircase as he and Kankurō appeared. 

“It's time?” Kankurō asked, half-awake and disheveled. 

Shikamaru nodded mutely, his pupils wide. “Y-yeah, I—”

“Shit.” Everyone moved to catch Shikamaru as he toppled over, but Lee was the quickest to him. One second he was standing next to Kankurō and the next he was catching an unconscious Shikamaru in his arms. 

“Guess the excitement got to him,” Kankurō offered weakly. 

“Here.” Lee handed Shikamaru off to a confused ANBU, who only looked imploringly to Gaara. “You can take him to the hospital. I will assist Temari-san.” 

“What? But you can't teleport.” 

“She should not be teleporting,” Lee reiterated, his tone short and snappish. “I researched heavily before I arrived, and a common complication during labor occurs when a kunoichi is teleported to a separate birthing facility. She should walk.” 

“She can't walk!” Kankurō argued. “She's. In. Labor.” 

“Actually, walking can be incredibly helpful in speeding up the process. I could go into the particulars, but—”

 _“Where the hell is my husband?”_ Temari shrieked from upstairs. 

“—I believe your sister needs my assistance more,” Lee finished. Gaara hadn't seen Lee quite this alive since his last visit to Konoha, before Maito Gai's death. He didn't waste a moment in disappearing upstairs, leaving Gaara and Kankurō staring after him, and two confused ANBU sharing looks with an unconscious Shikamaru between them. 

“Should we take him to the hospital, Kazekage-sama?” 

“Yes,” Gaara said, waving the ANBU off. “We'll be along shortly.” 

The two ANBU shared another look, but did as instructed, disappearing with Shikamaru. 

“Guess we better go run interference before Bowl-Cut gets on Temari's bad side.” 

They made their way upstairs, Lee's and Temari's voices carrying to them before they'd even reached the secondfloor landing. 

“—far apart are the contractions?” 

“I don't know,” Temari growled. 

“Do you recall when the last one was?” 

Another growl echoed down the hall, followed by, “What about 'I don't know' don't you understand?” 

“Forgive me, Temari-san, but it is important to keep track of these things. Please inform me of your next contraction while we walk.” 

“You're fucking crazy,” Temari snapped. “I'm not walking to the damned hospital.” 

“I assure you it will be helpful if you do.” 

“What the hell do you know about—oh, thank the Desert's _fucking_ Grace. What the fuck happened to Shikamaru?” 

“He passed out,” Kankurō said carefully, edging closer to Temari. “Uh, you want me to teleport—”

“No,” Lee snapped. “If you teleport it can be dangerous for Temari-san and the baby. If she does not wish to walk, we need to find another means of transporting her.” 

“What—” Temari's expression pinched and she leaned heavily into Lee, gripping his hand for all she was worth.

“Temari—”

“It is just a contraction,” Lee said, watching Temari carefully. Temari's expression relaxed a moment later, and Lee sighed. “Forty-five seconds. I shall time it until your next one.” 

Temari glared up at Lee with as much fury as she could muster, but Lee wasn't cowed.

“If we're walking, we should leave soon. The hospital is almost an hour away.” 

“An hour,” Temari repeated, lip curling. “Fuck that. Can't you use your sand?” 

“Of course. My ANBU went ahead to alert the hospital and check Shikamaru in. Hopefully, he'll be awake by the time we get there.” 

“He better fucking be," Temari growled, finally allowing Lee to guide her down the hall. 

__________________________

Books could never have prepared Gaara for the reality of childbirth. It was a gruesome affair. Temari punched clean through a wall when a contraction overtook her on the way to her room—it probably didn't help that Shikamaru was still out cold. 

It didn't take long before Temari kicked Gaara and Kankurō out of the room, allowing only Lee—who simply refused to leave—and the medics to stay. 

“Can you believe the balls on him?” Kankurō asked, flopping into a seat in the waiting room. “Of all the times for the guy to refuse to listen to us, he picks now.” 

“At least he's taking his duties seriously,” Gaara intoned, staring at the door to the waiting room with enough intensity that it should have burst into flames. 

“True enough,” Kankurō agreed. “Still can't believe it though. Making Temari walk, telling her 'no' when she just punched through a wall—”

“To be fair to him, I'm certain he can punch through steel.” 

Kankurō snorted. “Still, I wouldn't wanna be on Temari's bad side right now.” 

“I think Shikamaru is the one who needs to worry about that.” 

“Ya think he's gonna be out the whole time?” 

“It's doubtful. Labor can take up to thirty-six hours—or so I've read. I doubt it'll take that long, but it's possible given this is Temari's first child.” 

“Shit. I'd rather they just cut me open at that point. I mean, I've been stabbed, it can't be that much worse.” 

Gaara weighed whether or not he wanted to describe to Kankurō what exactly a C-section involved. In the end, he decided to be kind to his brother. “Agreed.” 

Shikamaru woke ten minutes later, frantic at having missed part of Temari's delivery. He'd found Kankurō and Gaara in the waiting room for a quick update, before rushing off to the delivery room, leaving the two soon-to-be uncles to stew in their ignorance. 

Gaara might have sent his Third Eye Jutsu into the delivery room just to ease his mind, but he was sure his sister wouldn't entertain the breech of privacy, no matter how anxious he was.

“You think it's gonna be much longer?” Kankurō asked some three hours later. “I'm hungry.” 

“I'll send someone to fetch us food,” Gaara offered. 

“Nah. I need to stretch my legs—I just don't wanna miss anything.” 

“If anything changes while you're gone, I'll send someone to get you.” 

“Cool, cool. You want anything?” 

“Where are you going?” 

“Thinkin' 'bout The Blue Tagine.” 

“I'll have whatever you're having. And a spiced coffee.” He'd never managed to drink the coffee he'd made earlier that night. 

Kankurō left with his order, and Gaara sat, watching the second-hand on the wall clock tick away. 

Two hours later—after Kankurō had returned and they'd both eaten their fill—Kankurō was snoring in the chair beside Gaara. A nurse had stopped by to give them an update as they'd eaten, but aside from a quick “Everything's progressing normally,” they knew next to nothing about what was happening. 

It wasn't until the sun's light started bleeding through the blue glass of the waiting room's window that anything exciting happened. 

The doors slammed opened as a harried Rock Lee—looking more human than he had since his arrival—barreled into announce, “The baby's crowning!” before he disappeared again. 

Kankurō had jolted awake at the intrusion, his hands held before him in a loose fighting stance before he'd remembered where they were.

“Crowning?” he repeated to the swinging doors. “What's that mean?” 

“The baby's head is visible,” Gaara said sufficiently. “It shouldn't be too much longer now.” 

And sure enough, an hour and a half later, Lee was announcing the birth of baby Ruri, Gaara's first niece. 

__________________________

The arrival of baby Ruri—which was all Lee ever called her—should have been a glorious distraction from Rock Lee and his moods.

It was not. 

Temari and Ruri stayed in the hospital for the first two days, which meant Shikamaru also stayed in the hospital, leaving Gaara and Kankurō to manage at home with Lee. 

“It's going to be fine,” Temari had insisted to Kankurō as he'd grumbled about being stuck alone with Lee. Her attitude towards Lee had done an immediate about-face once she'd held her daughter for the first time. Apparently, Lee had been an excellent helper during the birth. Even the midwife had raved about him. 

Contrary to Temari's assurance—and unsurprising to Gaara—it was not fine once they got home. Without Ruri to focus on, Lee's mood reverted so that his presence was an unpleasant blemish on the otherwise joyous occasion. 

For the umpteenth time, Gaara wished they could have hired anyone else to be Ruri's nanny. 

However, he did his best not to complain because he, unlike Kankurō, had an excuse to get away from Lee. Kankurō, per Suna's laws, was off-duty for the next month following his long mission. Gaara had passed that particular law immediately after the war, in an effort to lower mortality rates among the ranks. Any mission longer than a month required all shinobi to rest following their return to the village—the amount of rest varied depending on the length of the mission—which meant Kankurō was home and Lee was driving him crazy. 

“Can't I at least go to the theatre? That's not _really_ work, right?” Kankurō begged, visiting Gaara for lunch in his office on the second day after Ruri's birth. 

“Absolutely not,” Gaara snapped. 

“How is this relaxing?” Kankurō grumbled. “I can't relax with him always—” He tensed up, scrunching his face, “—you know?” 

“If by that,” Gaara said, gesturing to Kankurō's person, “you mean the constant chakra rolling through the house, then why not go to your workshop? You have a cot in there.” 

Kankurō snorted. “Oh, sure, banish _me_ from my own home so Rock Lee can mope around in the house all alone.” 

“It's just a suggestion.” 

“Yeah, sure. And the next thing you know, Temai and Shikamaru gotta find a new babysitter cause the first one's offed him—” Kankurō pulled a face before he could finish, but it was too late. 

“Don't say that.” 

“Sorry. I didn't mean it like that, I just—” Kankurō looked away. “It's strange seein' him like this, and I kinda...”

“You're worried,” Gaara said, realization dawning. Of course, Kankurō was worried. They were all worried—or at least, Gaara told himself they were all worried. He was less convinced that he could include himself in that, and seeing and hearing Kankurō's worry so plainly made it all the more obvious that Gaara could not count himself among the worried.

“What else would I be?” Kankurō asked. “I mean, I know I complain, but I'm not really mad at him or anything.” He snorted. “Fat lotta good bein' mad at him would do. Plus, it's not like it's his fault he's not good at grieving. Can't say any of us are.” 

“No,” Gaara agreed quietly, looking down at his food as guilt made his stomach churn. 

“Shikamaru said Lee hasn't actually tried to—ya know—” Kankurō gestured awkwardly, unable to put voice to the words. “But Lee's done some stupid shit on missions, so it's probably not beyond him.” 

“Which is why I have an ANBU detail on him. If he really is that much of a danger to himself—and to Ruri—they'll be there to interfere.” 

Kankurō pressed his mouth into a thin line, his unpainted face uncharacteristically grave. “That's good. Hopefully we won't need 'em.” 

“Hopefully.” 

__________________________

Whatever tension existed in Kankurō because of Lee's presence, was not the same sort of tension that it had stirred within Gaara. He'd known his feelings were less than compassionate towards Lee, but the fact that Kankurō was actively worried for Lee made Gaara feel all alone in his particular frustrations, and thus made him feel all the more monstrous. Perhaps Suna's monster wasn't as dead and gone as he'd like to tell himself it was.

While he knew logically that it wasn't fair to be so unforgiving and impatient with Lee, Gaara could not help but find the reality of Rock Lee's grief disquieting and disruptive no matter how hard he tried not to. He could understand and empathize with grief and loss, and in fact prided himself on being an empathetic person—though his social skills were lacking, his empathy was not, and it was a great source of comfort to Gaara when he looked back on his life and all his past trauma. The fact that he had come out the other side of so much anger, pain, and bloodshed a kind person was the bedrock he'd built his identity upon; if someone formerly as monstrous as him could be kind-hearted, perhaps he could atone for his sins. But Rock Lee's grief had become singularly irritating, a personal affront to Gaara, and this shook the bedrock of Gaara's kindness, made him doubt and question his own moral integrity. Surely, Gaara knew that better than anyone what loss could do to a person. Surely, Gaara, of all people, could empathize with Lee's pain and turmoil. He could empathize with strangers, why couldn't he empathize with Rock Lee? Why couldn't he extend the compassion he'd cultivated in himself to someone he'd once counted something like a friend? 

By the time Temari returned home, Gaara had not been able to answer these questions nor come up with a solution to his problem, and so he was tense and irritable. Try as he might to convince himself to be kind, the sight of Lee immediately set him on edge, and there didn't seem to be any helping that. 

“Welcome home, sis!” Kankurō announced with less volume or force because of the sleeping baby in her arms. “And welcome home, Ruri- _chan_.” 

That was going to take some getting used to. Kankurō _never_ used diminutives. 

“She passed out on the way over,” Shikamaru explained, quiet joy in every word. 

“She's got your hair.” Kankurō reached for the thick black tuft of hair, sticking out of the vibrant blue wrap Temari was carrying her in. “She's so soft.” 

“She is,” Temari agreed. “Gaara, come say hi to your niece.” 

Gaara had met Ruri once at the hospital and, similar to now, she'd been asleep. It was easy with her sleeping. He didn't have to worry about seeing fear in her eyes. Most children didn't like him, no matter how carefully he masked his chakra. It was as though they could see through him, see to his past and the blood on his hands. 

He reached out for Ruri, taking care that he didn't move too fast or allow his chakra to slip from his control. She cooed, making the softest sound Gaara could ever remember hearing in his life, and opened her eyes. 

They were as black as Shikamaru's and as bright as Temari's, reflecting light like the night sky reflected stars. He'd never seen anything so perfect. 

And then she screwed her face up and began to cry. 

Gaara reeled backwards, putting as much space between him and his niece as he could, his heart in his throat and dread coiling in his stomach. 

“Shh,” Temari hushed, bouncing Ruri gently. She glanced at Gaara, a familiar concern in the furrow of her brow. “She's probably just hungry.” 

“O-of course,” Gaara muttered, looking away. “I'll—be in my study.” 

He fled from the scene, as though he were guilty of some heinous crime and Ruri's cries followed him, as inescapable as Lee's chakra. He caught Lee's dark gaze as he made his escape, cursing him for his constant presence. It was difficult enough having his family witness such a thing, but to have an interloper witness his moment of weakness? He couldn't stand it. 

Twenty minutes later, Temari intruded on his space. 

“Is Ruri all right?” 

“Of course, she is,” Temari said, fond exasperation in her voice. “I told you, she was just hungry.” 

The grip on his pen and the hunch of his back would be obvious to Temari, so he forced himself to relax, staring down at the documents he'd been working on unseeing. “Of course.” 

“She doesn't hate you,” Temari whispered, a cool hand against the back of his neck. “I promise.” 

“Is she sleeping now?” 

“She is. Lee took her upstairs.” 

Gaara tensed anew, the pen in his hand snapping. “I see.” 

“It can't have been that bad while I was in the hospital,” she scoffed. 

“I wouldn't know. I was at the office.” 

“Uh huh. And how exactly is that supposed to make things better between you two?” 

“I wasn't aware there had to be anything between us.” 

“Oh, ha ha,” Temari mocked. “Gaara, he's my nanny. I don't need you to love him, but I do need you to get along with him, which means I need you to stop avoiding him.” 

“I'm not avoiding him. I've been busy.” 

“Don't bullshit me. Not only am I one of the best diplomats Suna's ever had, I'm also a mom now.” 

“I'm not the only one who can't stand being around him,” Gaara pointed out, almost petulant. Childish. He was so childish. 

“Okay, but Kankurō's trying. You said you would, but so far I don't see it.” 

“I'm sorry.” Gaara looked up at her, feeling as though he were four years old all over again and looking at Temari for the first time. “I promise, I will try.” 

Temari leaned forward, placing a kiss to his forehead. “That's all I ask.” 

It shouldn't have felt like such a huge request—especially not coming from his sister—but it did. 

__________________________

Temari wasn't scheduled to return to work for another two weeks, but she was already preparing herself and Lee for the inevitable. They went over their routine diligently daily, and Temari reiterated what her and Shikamaru's expectations were in a tone that brokered no nonsense. 

Lee, for his part, was a dedicated nanny. 

It was his saving grace, and Gaara focused on that instead of focusing on any other part of Lee. If Lee took good care of his niece, he didn't care what the man's moods were or how annoyingly loud his chakra was. He'd suffer it all for Ruri and Temari's sake. But, somehow—blessedly, mercifully—he hadn't had to. Lee was too busy getting used to his duties, and Temari and Shikamaru were both so overwhelmed with being new parents that they didn't even have time for nightly dinners despite everyone being home. 

So Gaara took his reprieve, spending most of his nights in his office, subsisting off take-out meals and spiced coffees or teas, and not once thinking about Rock Lee or how Ruri had only ever cried in Gaara's presence. He couldn't go on like this forever, but for now, he'd take what he could get. 

“Here you are, Kazeakage-sama,” a Chūnin toed the door of his office open, carrying a tray with his take-out and several scrolls. “Dinner and work.” 

“Thank you.” Gaara waited for the Chūnin to leave before opening his food. The familiar blue bag of The Blue Tagine steamed as he unpacked his dinner. The cup of spiced coffee dripped condensation and the now tiny ice cubes clinked together as he set his cup on his desk. He sighed, letting the aroma fill his nostrils before he set his food to one side where he could easily eat and work. 

The pile of scrolls weren't particularly riveting pieces of politic, but Gaara didn't mind something simple while he ate. And if he did drop food on a document, it wouldn't be the end of the world. 

He made quick work on the first scroll—a night-watch report—and his spiced coffee. 

The second and third scrolls—a permit for a new greenhouse and a request to expand the goat farms on the flat crest of the plateau—carried him through less than half of his dinner. 

By the fourth scroll, his vision was starting to blur. 

He shook himself, blinking bright spots from his eyes. It wasn't that late—was it? 

A knock at his door distracted him. “Enter.” 

The doorknob rattled, like bones being scattered across the desert by high winds, and he directed a frown across the room, watching the doorknob twist and turn. 

“Kazekage-sama,” Lee's familiar voice called from the other side. 

“Rock Lee?” What was Lee doing here? He had no reason to visit Gaara at the office, unless— “Is Temari all right?” 

“Kazekage-sama.” 

The doorknob rattled again. At the bottom of the door, where a thin breath of air separated it from the floor, something moved. The deep red of blood trickled between the crack beneath the door, a thin line trailing towards Gaara like a snake. 

He stumbled backwards, falling into the wall and knocking his chair to the floor with a sudden clatter. “What—”

The door burst, wood exploding into the air, and in the shadows of the threshold, Rock Lee stood, his head bowed and blood dripping from one of his arms and legs. 

“Kazekage-sama.” 

“NO!” 

He jerked up from the floor, his sand slicing through the air like a nimcha. An ANBU flickered out of his line of attack just in time, several hairs and a small piece of fabric fluttering to the floor as she disappeared. His heart thudded in his chest and sweat dripped down his forehead, his chest heaving with each gasping breath. 

“Kazekage-sama,” his ANBU said, as if repeating it. “Are you all right?” 

Gaara gasped again, his whole body trembling. “I—”

He took his office in like a frightened child seeking out monsters in the dark. His desk was in tatters, ribbons of wood curling on the floor; his chair had been knocked aside, just as it had in his dream; his papers were scattered and shredded; his food and coffee, barely touched, spilled across the ribbons that had once been his desk. Had he even taken a bite of his food, or had he dreamed that too? 

His ANBU approached carefully, her hands held before her as if in surrender. The lower half of the veil on her shemagh had been sliced, revealing a portion of her mouth “Kazekage-sama—”

“I'm fine,” he managed, weak and confused. “It was—it was just a dream.” 

A dream. The word was bitter on his tongue, like the peel of a citrus fruit. Dreams didn't bother with men like him; all he had were memories steeped in blood. 

But unlike his other memories, this one was living in his house.

__________________________

“Kazekage-sama, I promise this will be a painless process.” 

Painless for him, perhaps. Painless for the medics monitoring him, he doubted. 

His heart thudded a treacherous drum in his chest, a single, sporadic beat escaping his control before he bit back down on it as his nails bit into the skin of his palms. He didn't need a terrible amount of pressure to refocus his anxiety. Any minor pain would do. 

The medic placed a final flat disc, attached to a wire, against his temple, before stepping back. “You understand how this procedure works?” 

“Yes.” Gaara had read an excruciatingly dull report on sleep studies to prepare himself for this moment. He knew all the ins and outs, but what he didn't know was how they were going to make him fall asleep. 

“We'll be in the other room if you should need us, but otherwise, just lay down and try to fall asleep as you normally would.” 

“You expect me to fall asleep on my own?” 

“Of course. Inducing sleep won't provide accurate results. Natural sleep is the only way.” 

“And if I can't fall asleep?” 

“Then you'll need to reschedule the study.” The medic said simply, before excusing himself from the room.

Gaara hated medics. He glared after the man, before flopping down onto the mattress. The lights went out a second later, and darkness filled every corner of the room, save for the light filtering in from the corridor on the other side of the double doors. 

“Comfortable, Kazekage-sama?” another voice buzzed over an intercom. 

“Perfectly,” he ground through gritted teeth. 

He let out a heavy sigh through his nostrils, and forced himself to be calm. Everything would be fine. He just needed to take deep, steadying breaths, control his heart rate, and focus on something— _anything_ —other than the memory of Rock Lee standing in the shadows of his office door. 

His nostrils flared at the memory and his heartrate doubled for a brief second.

He turned, adjusting the pillow. He couldn't decide if it was too soft or not. Maybe he could request something a little more supportive? He flopped back onto it and the pillow folded around his ears. He tried not to let his frustrations show, and closed his eyes. Laying on his back wasn't working.

He turned onto his side—first his left, then his right. 

He huffed and rolled onto his stomach. 

And on and on, tossing and turning, on high alert for hours. 

“Kazekage-sama, if you could please try to lay still,” the intercom buzzed as Gaara's internal clock told him it was just past three in the morning. 

“This mattress isn't comfortable. Neither is the pillow,” he asserted, foisting blame onto the objects that couldn't protest.

“We can get you a different pillow, but unfortunately that's the mattress we have.” 

Ten minutes later, the intercom buzzed again. “Kazekage-sama, there are no other pillows. Please, try to relax.” 

Gaara wanted to throw his useless pillows at the intercom. “Sleep is not a relaxing activity for me, as I have expressed multiple times.” 

“We understand, but you're safe here.” 

“My safety was never in question,” he said in narrow-eyed consternation.

There was a long pause, then the white noise of the intercom filled the air, silence on the other end for a moment long enough that Gaara knew the medics were unsettled. “Just... try to close your eyes.” 

Gaara did. 

But he never fell asleep.

__________________________

A week after the sleep study, Gaara's results arrived.

He wouldn't have called them results, per say. Instead, what he received was a useless piece of paper telling him that his chakra levels were exceedingly high, which didn't take a medic to figure out; that there were abnormal dips in his chakra at two hour intervals throughout the night, which he knew to be his chakra replacing a need for sleep and which was as unconscious to him as breathing; and, finally, they reported that they could not find anything to indicate that he had developed narcolepsy. The medics recommended a followup sleep study, as soon as possible. 

This left Gaara at loose ends. 

He'd insisted to Temari that he not return home without answers for Ruri's sake, but he couldn't stay away forever. 

“Look, Gaara,” Temari said seriously, setting the useless piece of paper masquerading as 'results' back on the table. Lee had Ruri with him upstairs, giving Temari and Gaara the chance to talk in private and without a cranky baby interrupting them. This also meant Gaara hadn't seen Lee since his last nightmare. 

“Don't,” he said, heading her off. “I know what you're going to say.” 

“I trust you,” she said firmly, reaching across the table to touch his hand. “Shikamaru trusts you.” 

“And what happens if—” He couldn't bring himself to say it. He could hardly bring himself to think it. “Temari, if anything happened to her—”

“It. Won't.” She squeezed his hand, emphasizing her point. “Gaara, I know you're scared—”

“I'm terrified.” His voice sounded small, like that of a child's. 

“I know,” she soothed. “But we're not going to abandon you. Please, just... come home. You haven't spent any time with Ruri, and she's only going to be this little for so long. I don't want you to miss her growing up.” 

Gaara's eyes burned, and he turned away from his sister's earnest gaze. “I don't want to miss it either.” 

“So you'll come home?” 

Dread pooling in his stomach, Gaara nodded.

__________________________

“And here she is,” Temari announced, placing Ruri into Gaara's arms. To his surprise, she didn't protest. 

He cradled her in his arms, staring down at her tiny face and into her wide eyes, awed by how delicate she was. 

“Aren't you glad you came home?” Temari asked, before a yawn could overtake her. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly, still mesmerized by Ruri.

“Do you wanna try putting her to bed for me? Lee's already asleep.” 

Gaara hesitated. “What do I do?” 

“Just rock her until she falls asleep. It's not so hard, I promise.” 

“Then what?” 

“Just take her upstairs and put her to bed. Once she's out, she doesn't usually wake up again until she's hungry or needs a diaper change. Apparently we're very lucky.” She laughed, reaching out to brush her fingers against the top of Ruri's head. “Do you think you can handle it?” 

“I think so.” 

“Come on, you're the Kazekage. This is going to be like a D-rank mission for you, tops.” 

“If you say so,” he said doubtfully. 

“Good night, Gaara,” Temari said with a warm chuckle. 

“Night.” 

Gaara couldn't bring himself to look away from Ruri, rocking her gently as she stared up at him with wide eyes. He hoped she always looked at him like that—without fear or reproach. He was sure that someday, when she was old enough to go to school, it would be difficult to keep her from the truth of his past, but he hoped by then it wouldn't sway her view of him. 

He glanced back at his desk where the mountain of paperwork he'd been pouring over and his momentarily forgotten dinner waited. There would be time enough for that later—even if his food did go cold. 

Leaning back in his chair, Gaara allowed himself to relax, however reluctantly, as he gently rocked his niece. It felt strange to hold her—he hadn't done it at all in the weeks she'd been home. She was so small, so fragile, so soft. It was strange to think that two shinobi could create something as weak and delicate as an infant. 

“You'll kill her.” 

Gaara's heart stuttered in his chest. He looked up carefully, hardly daring to bring himself face-to-face with the person standing in the doorway. It couldn't be Rock Lee, he never came to Gaara's study. As much as Gaara avoided Lee, Lee seemed equally as determined to avoid him.

He swallowed thickly, his eyes barely lifted to see Lee's bare feet and the blood pooling around them. He closed his eyes tight, hunching over until Ruri was safely tucked against his chest. 

“This is a dream,” he managed, voice shaking. 

“It's the future.” 

This person didn't sound like Rock Lee—of course, the voice was the same, but he spoke all wrong. Gaara had never known Lee to speak so bluntly, so informally. Even when all he wanted was to put distance between himself and everyone around him, even when he wanted his words to cut like a blade, he used formality as his wet stone to sharpen his words, not these blunted instruments. Besides, he'd never accuse Gaara of hurting his niece. 

But no matter how sure he was of the truth, he could not keep the fear from gripping him. He heard the all-too-familiar pop of his gourd and the angry hiss of his sand. 

“No.” 

“You're a killer. I know that better than anyone.” 

“No!” 

He hadn't meant to look up, hadn't wanted to face this version of Rock Lee. But the accusation and the reminder of what he'd been and what he'd done was too much to bear with closed eyes. He met Lee's dead eyes, took in Lee's bloodied face and decomposing skin, and his sand screamed around him. 

And he screamed with it. 

Somewhere, a baby cried. 

Tears burned his vision, blurring it around the edges. 

“Wake up,” he demanded. “Wake up.” 

The world around him shook with immeasurable force as something impossible slammed into him.

He woke to the sound of Ruri's terrified sobs and his sand raging in his little study. At the epicenter of the storm, Rock Lee—alive and stark naked—stood with Ruri close to his chest and fury in his eyes. 

Gaara quieted his sand instantly and it fell around them like a rain, but Ruri's crying did not subside. 

“I—”

“Kazekage-sama,” Lee said, tone clipped. There were several cuts along his chest where the sand had made contact, but the worst was the line across his cheek, oozing blood down the side of his face. Gaara shuddered, unable to look away from the line of blood dripping down Lee's cheek. 

“Is she—”

“She is unharmed,” Lee said simply. His black eyes scanned the office, but his awareness never left Gaara. “What happened?” 

“I—it was a—a dream.” 

Lee cast him a skeptical look, one filled with a judgment he'd never thought possible of Rock Lee. “You sleep now?” 

“No. It's—we don't know what's wrong.” 

Ruri gave another almighty wail, loud enough to wake the whole village. Lee hushed her, suddenly gentle, no longer a shinobi seeking an enemy combatant. 

“Please, can I—”

Lee pulled back, his posture tensing, every muscle rippling. “I will take her to bed.” 

“I didn't mean—”

“I need to inform Temari-san and Shikamaru-kun. They will probably be awake by now.” 

He'd told Temari this would be a bad idea. He should have moved out when the nightmares had persisted, he should have stayed far away until they could find an answer. 

“Thank you,” Gaara managed, staring at Lee's feet. 

“For?” 

“For saving her.” 

“Part of my job is keeping her safe,” Lee said simply. “I should think, as her uncle, that is also part of yours.”

The words hurt for the truth in them. As Kazekage, it was his job to protect his people and his village; as a brother, it was his job to protect his siblings; as an uncle, it was his job to protect his niece. He'd failed at the latter, failed even at the second because how could he protect his sister if he endangered her daughter? Would these nightmares endanger his own people eventually? What would have happened if Lee hadn't been there to save Ruri? 

Lee left his office without another word, taking a now hiccuping baby Ruri upstairs where he would hopefully put on some clothes before he delivered the news to Temari and Shikamaru. 

Gaara's study had been summarily destroyed, much like his office. The remnants of books, scrolls, paperwork, and his furniture were now a ruined mess. It was a miracle Ruri hadn't been harmed, and a miracle still that Lee had survived as well.

He rose on shaky legs, forcing himself to stand and begin tidying up the room. His hands still trembled and fear still gripped his heart, but the guilt over putting his niece in harms way was insurmountable. He could not shake the sound of her terrified crying or Lee's harsh parting words. As he cleaned, he waited for Temari to come raging into his study, for Shikamaru to threaten him with political action, perhaps to have Naruto weigh in on whether or not he was still fit to be Kazekage. 

But they never came.

The hours passed as slowly as grains of sand falling in glass, and all was quiet. 

When he couldn't take it anymore, he left. 

Hopefully, he'd still have a home to return to by sunrise.

**Author's Note:**

> [M'semen](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M%27semen) is a traditional flatbread originally from Northwest Africa. [Sfenj](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sfenj) is a Northwest African doughnut. [Tagine](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tajine) are a type of cookware. 
> 
> A [nimcha](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nimcha) is a type of blade.


End file.
